


honest when it rains

by panda_shi, sub_textual



Series: honest when it rains [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage and Discipline, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Comeplay, Creampie, Degradation, Dom/sub, Dominance, Edgeplay, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Facials, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, KakaIru is endgame, Lifestyle D/s is awesome, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Service Submission, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, So is switching, Spanking, Submission, Subspace, Switching, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 124,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual
Summary: Kakashi and Iruka wake up hungover in a hotel room together and discover that they'd made some terrible decisions that forever change their lives.---There are too many broken pieces of him for someone to hold; too much ugliness, and too many scars, and too much blood on his skin that he’ll never be able to wash off. Kakashi doesn’t know what it would even mean to love someone, or to be loved like he’s read in these kind of books. He’s only ever glimpsed what it might feel like in passing, in the looks Minato-sensei and Kushina-san exchanged with one another when they were still alive, and in the way their shadows held hands as they walked down the street together at night. In the smiles and in the laughter of families that live in the light, who don’t smell of dirt and blood and the decay that is the smell of men like him who go to war in the night.Love was never meant for men like him, who don’t even know what it means to be alive.---Part 1 of this fic has been completed and posted.  We are now on hiatus to finish Part 2, which will be posted soon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never make decisions when you're drunk: the fic. 
> 
> (Cover art by [sub_textual](http://subtextually.tumblr.com)) 
> 
> Takes place one year after the Fourth Great Shinobi War.
> 
>  _Soundtrack:_ [Halsey - Strange Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-Jo25SL56A)

_I’m only honest when it rains_  
_If I time it right, the thunder breaks_  
_When I open my mouth_  
_I want to tell you, but I don’t know how_ _  
_ \- Sleeping At Last

 

*

 

_  
_

*

  
It’s the sun that wakes him — bright, blinding, merciless.

Iruka doesn’t understand why the sun has to be so damn cheery, and wake him up so rudely, when thunder roars between his ears, and it feels like he’s stuffed his head full of falling rocks that have somehow weighed his eyelids down.

Trying to open them feels like peeling plaster.

He groans, turning his face away from the blinding light pouring in through the window, and ends up thumping his head hard against something smooth and cool. After quite a great deal of effort, and a triumphant battle with his eyelids, Iruka manages to peel his eyes open again and discovers that he’s just headbutted a very large, ornate porcelain vase filled with fresh flowers.

And apparently, he is somehow sprawled across a very soft, luxurious shag rug on the floor.

He groans, and attempts to get up, but the room spins dangerously, sending him careening face-first into the flowers as his arm flails for the bed next to him, and he manages to very inelegantly claw himself upwards.

Iruka can’t remember the last time he had felt this hungover. What the hell did he do to himself?

He suddenly realizes that there isn’t a stitch of clothing on him, and that his clothes are nowhere to be found anywhere nearby.

Well, he thinks to himself, this is just great, isn’t it?

He doesn’t even know where he is, and he’s managed to misplace his clothing.

Somehow, Iruka manages to right himself to his knees, cheek pillowing the edge of the mattress as his stomach turns and he tries to figure out exactly where he is.

The room is impressively large, tastefully decorated. It looks extremely luxurious and far too expensive for Iruka to afford. It certainly isn’t the budget hotel Iruka had booked for Tsunade’s weekend birthday bash, which was being held in Tanzaku this year. Known for its excellent fare of nightlife and many gambling establishments, Tanzaku has always been one of Tsunade’s favorite villages to visit, and it just so happened to be that her birthday coincided with a weekend that Iruka had off.

Along with another group of Academy teachers, Iruka thought it would be a pretty fun time, filled with some good food, good booze, and maybe a bit of gambling if he was feeling a little risky. But this —  _this_ is something else entirely.

“What the fuck…” Iruka rubs his face against sheets that are impossibly soft, and then he decides he can’t stay here on the floor, cheek pressed to mattress, forever. At some point, he should probably get up. So, he ends up reaching up to grab a fistful of covers to use as traction to pull himself up — and ends up somehow pulling most of the covers towards him, and not getting very far at all in terms of standing up.

And when the covers pull back, Iruka suddenly gets an eyeful of a very bare, very sculpted ass belonging to what appears to be a very decorated shinobi, judging from the topography of scars that line his muscular back.

Unruly, thick silver hair cuts across the man’s features, and Iruka can’t get a very good look at his face from his position at the foot of the bed.

Iruka stares in confusion at the shinobi’s back, trying to figure out just whom he’d gone home with, and how he’d even gotten here in the first place. The last thing he recalls is Gai challenging Kakashi to a drinking contest at some point last night, which somehow ended up with an entire barful of shinobi getting dragged into the challenge — Iruka included. He remembers that there was quite a lot of beer, which then eventually gave way to shots, and somewhere between the whiskey and the tequila, everything went dark.

His bed partner — if he can even call him that, given that Iruka had woken up on the floor — makes a soft, unintelligible grumble, and Iruka’s heart skips a beat in anticipation as the man shifts and turns, patting an arm blindly behind him, as though he’s trying to find the covers Iruka had so helpfully pulled off the bed.

And then, he turns and Iruka suddenly finds himself confronted with a pair of dark, sleep-heavy eyes, as the man slightly props himself up on an elbow.

For a moment, they stare at each other in bewilderment.

Iruka’s gaze flows over the man, who is ridiculously gorgeous, despite the dark circles under deep set eyes that belie the hangover he must have woken up with. Iruka’s eyes drink up strong, chiseled features, covered with a light dusting of silver stubble. There’s a small mole on the man’s chin, and Iruka follows it up to a faint scar cutting over the left corner of his mouth, that Iruka thinks he probably wouldn’t mind running his tongue over, if he weren’t so hungover.

His eyes dance down to a broad, scarred chest and chiseled arms, one of which is tattooed with a red swirl that signifies ANBU, and then back up to his face. Wild silver hair droops into exhausted, unfocused eyes — and, it’s with a slow, sinking realization, that Iruka registers that a rather prominent scar bisects the man’s left eye.

 _Oh gods_ , he thinks to himself in shock.

He’s staring at a very naked, unmasked Hatake Kakashi spread on the bed.  

Iruka glances down at his own body, then back up again, and flushes.

“Hello," Iruka croaks out.

Kakashi’s eyes sweep down over him, and Iruka watches as a silver brow rises slightly. “Hello,” he rasps out, after a moment of pause, his voice hoarse and thick. He clears his throat and shifts slightly, then reaches for the covers, which only results in Iruka’s gaze flowing south of Kakashi’s waist and —  _Oh._

“You and I—” Iruka begins awkwardly, as he tries to piece together the previous night. “Do you remember…?” It’s difficult to form words, when he’s staring at the last person ever imagined he would see naked. Iruka forces his gaze away, cheeks burning, as the rocks in his head give a rather loud tumble.

Kakashi seems to consider his question, brows furrowing in consideration as his fingers snag the edge of the covers and he pulls them up over himself for modesty.

“Unfortunately, the last thing I remember is the drinking contest,” Kakashi says. “But, judging by our state of undress, I’m guessing we probably had a pretty good time last night.”

And maybe it’s the sour alcohol still sitting in Iruka’s stomach, or maybe it’s his nerves, or a combination of both. Or maybe it’s the fall of rocks growing increasingly louder inside his head, but Iruka just says the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “Funny, I don’t remember anything at all. Which is a damn shame. Because, I’m liking what I’m seeing.”

But the thing is, it doesn’t feel like they’ve had an entire night of passion that somehow was so intense, Iruka ended up on the floor. He shifts experimentally, and discovers that his backside doesn’t hurt at all.

“I don’t hurt in places where I’d prefer to, you know, pleasantly hurt,” he says, confusion spilling across his face, as he tries once more to get back on his feet. “So either you suck in bed, or—”  The entire room suddenly spins, and Iruka’s stomach lurches as he focuses again on Kakashi’s face.  _His very bare face._ “Your face…”

Before he can finish his thought, nausea hits him like a stack of bricks.

Iruka does the smartest thing he can possibly do and turns around, pulls the flowers out of the vase sitting on the floor by him, and shoves his face in.

He then proceeds to throw up the contents of an entire village’s worth of liquor, right in front of Hatake Fucking Kakashi.

_Great._

 

*

 

The thing about alcohol is how very dangerous it can be.

It can make you do all sorts of crazy shit —  like drink to the point of amnesia, and wake up in a fancy hotel with a man you normally would never think to hit on, let alone sleep with.

It’s why Kakashi usually avoids getting drunk.

He hates losing control, losing time. Hates not knowing what happened, or feeling like he’s probably done something incredibly foolish. And he especially hates not remembering that he had somehow slept with someone, and that particular someone apparently is Umino Iruka, who, until this moment, he never imagined was even capable of having one night stands.

Iruka had always seemed so prim and proper — prudish, even. He didn’t exactly have a reputation for casual sex.

Kakashi had always thought Iruka would require the safety of commitment — he’s always seemed more like the marrying type. The kind of man who believes in the idea of happily ever afters, who probably dreams about himself growing old with someone, having a family.  All the things that don’t tend to fall in line with waking up, hungover and naked, in a strange hotel room after a wild night of inebriation.

Of all the ways Kakashi could have expected Iruka to react to the discovery that they had apparently had slept together, none of what just happened would have seemed plausible. He never imagined the Academy teacher would  _ever_  have been so open about a one night stand, let alone act  _disappointed_ that he didn’t remember it.

Kakashi vaguely wonders if this is just a very strange dream he is still waiting to wake from.

He’s also not sure if he should be flattered or offended by the assertion that he sucks in bed or that Iruka was apparently so shocked by his face that it has more or less triggered projectile vomiting.

(Though, Kakashi suspects that the hangover is the more likely culprit.)

At least, Iruka managed to make it to a receptacle of some kind, instead of making a mess all over the bed.

Kakashi sighs.

This is a great fucking way to start his morning.

He pushes himself into a sitting position, and discovers that moving was probably the worst decision he’s made since accepting Gai’s challenge to outdrink the other — and then the rest of the bar.

The entire world immediately spins, Kakashi’s vision blurring at the corners as his stomach twists, and he swallows hard as he takes a breath, willing himself to regain control over his faculties as best as he can.

He grimaces slightly as Iruka retches again, and then, steels himself and attempts to make it off the bed again — and that’s when it hits him like a punch to the face. 

*

 

It turns out, too much alcohol doesn’t sit well with anyone.

 

*

 

 

A shower, apparently, is the best way to deal with a hangover.

Iruka stares at the bathroom, and at Kakashi kneeling over the toilet, forehead pressed against the back of his hands, which are curled around the front of the toilet seat. If he didn’t feel so terrible, like he’d just been dropped down the side of a mountain, maybe Iruka would have felt more sympathy.

But as it is, he feels like his insides have been pulverized, and the only person he’s feeling sorry for is himself. He can’t even make it to his feet — every time he tries, he sways and stumbles, so he decides to just crawl his way to the bathroom, past Kakashi, who coughs wetly over the toilet.

With every bit of energy he can muster, Iruka manages to land himself in a heap in the tub, elbows knocking against the edges gracelessly, as he turns on the shower spray and hisses when cold water hits him. He gets himself sopping wet before he viciously attempts to scrub the sobriety back into himself.

The cold helps, shaking him from the lingering inebriation that he’d woken up with.

On the other side of the bathroom, the toilet flushes, and Kakashi coughs again. Iruka hears the sink faucet go on from where he’s sprawled in the tub, too miserable to care about the way he must look. He stares dazedly at the ceiling, and attempts to arrange his thoughts into some semblance of understanding, trying, with no avail, to recall what exactly happened.

He remembers doing shots. A  _lot_ of shots. But it shouldn’t have rendered him this wasted.

"Is this your room?" Iruka asks, blinking at the ceiling panels, then glances over the edge of the tub at Kakashi, who’s standing at the sink with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“No. I thought it was yours,” Kakashi says, as he reaches for the complimentary toothbrush and rips open the plastic wrapper it comes in. “I was hoping you might remember how we got here, but I guess we aren't so lucky after all.” Iruka watches as Kakashi squeezes toothpaste onto the bristles of the toothbrush, and then proceeds to brush his teeth. If he weren’t so miserable, he might’ve appreciated the vision Kakashi makes in the bathroom mirror in the morning, despite his apparent hangover.

He’s unbelievably attractive, Iruka thinks to himself despairingly.

It’s too bad he doesn’t remember anything about the previous night.

“To be honest, I’m not sure if anything actually happened,” he mutters, before he pushes himself up the tub bit to stare at the length of Kakashi’s back from where he is slightly hunched over the sink. His gaze wanders down the solid length of him, drinking in a tapestry of hard muscle and scars.

He’s not exactly sure how he ended up here.

Kakashi has always had  _quite_  the reputation.

Supposedly, he approaches sex the way he approaches everything else — with stunning expertise and cool detachment, rarely ever seeing the same person more than once. He’s never been romantically connected to anyone, as far as Iruka knows. And in the dim lights of bars, behind closed doors, over bottles of alcohol, Iruka’s heard the rumors — Hatake Kakashi is allergic to commitment, too broken to love.

A pity, when he’s supposedly an incredibly considerate and adventurous bed partner, or so they say.

A thought suddenly strikes Iruka. “Are _you_ sore?”

Iruka normally has more tact than this. But it’s difficult to behave as society dictates when one is nursing the hangover of the century.

Kakashi pauses with the toothbrush in his mouth, contemplating the question, and Iruka watches as he shifts his weight from one hip to the other.

“No,” he says through a mouthful of toothpaste, and then spits it out in the sink. “But, that just means we didn't fuck each other.” He looks pointedly at Iruka, his expression flat. “That doesn’t rule out everything else. And judging by how we woke up…”

Kakashi doesn’t have to finish his thought for Iruka to understand the implication.

He thinks  _something_  happened, but Iruka thinks even if they didn’t fuck, if he had simply gotten on his knees and taken Kakashi in his mouth, he would have dug in his fingers, raked them down the length of Kakashi’s thighs. He would have decorated Kakashi’s hip and inner thigh with teeth marks and love bites. Iruka knows he would have been all over Kakashi. And looking at him now, staring at him with searching focus, he tries to remember if he had seen any marks earlier. He had to have been pretty wasted if he didn’t get very far.

Iruka blinks. “Maybe we just fooled around and then I fell off the bed. Maybe that was it.” Iruka’s eyes flick to red marks that blossom down the column of Kakashi’s neck and the curve of his shoulders. That definitely looks like his handiwork. He sighs with exasperation, and reaches forward to turn the tap off, carefully peeling himself out of tub and taking one of the towels to dry off.

He should go. He should get himself in order, head to his _own_ hotel and try to nurse his hangover there, alone, without a senior in rank in the vicinity. What had gone through his mind last night? More importantly, what bullshit friends had he decided to stick around with who hadn’t thought to stop him when he and Kakashi decided to go home with each other?

Those  _assholes._

Iruka shakily pulls himself out of the tub and makes an unsteady beeline for the bedroom, in search of his pants, finding them crumpled under a table. His shirt proves to be more difficult to find. So, he starts to turn the entire room upside down and successfully knocks over a vase of flowers in the process. The loudness of the crash makes him wince and the rocks inside his head rattle dangerously once more.

Maybe he should just hit the streets shirtless, if it means getting out of this room. Even if he’s one shoe short. “Do you see a shirt anywhere?”

Kakashi watches all of this from the doorway of the bathroom impassively, and Iruka’s almost certain he isn’t going to help, but then he sighs and walks over to the bed, pulling the covers up off the ground.

“Here,” Kakashi says, and Iruka suddenly finds himself smacked in the face with a flying shirt. “You know, I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this from you. I always thought you were kind of… hmm… prude.”

Prude.

Kakashi thought he was  _prude_.

Iruka doesn’t know if he should laugh or feel offended, and he’s too miserable to actually care at the moment. He yanks his shirt viciously over his head and then jerks his arms into the sleeves. The shirt is inside out. Iruka doesn’t notice. “I think that’s the entire point.” After all, he  _is_  an Academy instructor. Parents would be horrified if they thought he was anything other than the perfect image of propriety and good values.

A schoolteacher with a penchant for rough, casual sex probably wouldn’t be considered an upstanding role model.

Iruka rolls his eyes and finds his other shoe under the bed, and fishes it out, then glances at Kakashi again, who had apparently found his pants and is already half-dressed. His gaze flows up the length of his body to his face again.

Iruka had made a fool of himself in front of him, this morning.

Even if the rumors weren’t true — that Kakashi doesn’t sleep with the same person twice — Iruka’s fairly certain that he probably won’t get a second chance. Not when the first impression he’d made first thing in the morning was throwing up in a vase.

“I’m normally not this much of an asshole,” Iruka says after a halting moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t like not remembering what happened and this is— I mean this is—” Iruka gestures awkwardly between them, laughter bubbling out of his throat, nervous and full of disbelief, as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I’ll uh, take this.” Iruka gestures to the vase filled with the shameful product of too much alcohol consumption.

“I don't like not remembering, either,” Kakashi admits. “But I suppose, we can just blame Gai for it later.” After all, if it weren't for Gai, none of this would have ever happened to begin with.

"Good plan." Iruka nods, and lifts the vase towards the door where he slips into his shoes. Iruka knows that he is going to be giving his so-called friends a good piece of his mind. He also knows that this is probably the last time he will be drinking this much at any Hokage's birthday, wedding, or whatever else they decide to celebrate in Tanzaku. And just to make sure he doesn't make an ass out of himself again, he'll just stay clear of Tanzaku all together.

Later on, when he gets his head sorted, and no longer feels as horrible, Iruka knows that he will most likely look back on this conversation and feel the weight of shame and embarrassment. He probably won't even be able to look at Kakashi in the eye again, either.

"I'm off. You'll be okay?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at Kakashi.

“Well, I have the worst hangover of my life, but I’ll be fine,” Kakashi responds, as he pulls his shirt on, and Iruka’s eyes flow back up to his face, committing his features to memory, before they disappear forever behind a mask.

"Take care, Kakashi-san," Iruka says with a final nod and a faint smile, and walks out the door.

 

 

*

 

It’s utterly surreal, being congratulated for sleeping with Hatake Kakashi.

Iruka had tried to make himself unapproachable on the journey back to Konoha, blocking out the sun with a scarf he had purchased from one of the vendors in Tanzaku and refusing to be social. He had hoped that he could have simply pretended like nothing ever happened, and go on with his life without ever admitting that he’d woken up naked with Kakashi. But, somehow, word had gotten around, and it seems like  _everyone_  is under the impression that they’d slept together. He doesn’t understand why everyone is making such a big deal out of it. Everywhere he goes, someone is clapping him on the shoulder, or giving him a big smile, and  _congratulating_  him.

Congratulations for sleeping with the infamous Hatake Kakashi, my ass, he grumbles.

He doesn’t know what the big deal is.

He does his best to stomach it as much as he can, and tells himself that it’ll be over by the time they get back to the village.

But the next day, Iruka opens his front door, and finds himself face-to-face with a pile of flowers and congratulatory cards. He stares at it in confusion and picks up everything sitting on his welcome mat, then shoves it all inside his living room.

Is this what happens every time someone supposedly sleeps with Hatake Kakashi?

He can’t believe the level of attention he’s getting, like he’s some kind of celebrity just because everyone thinks they had sex!

As if the cards and flowers weren’t bad enough, Iruka finds himself staring in bewilderment at his neighbor, the apple vendor, and the old lady he picks up his lunch bento from every morning on the way to the Academy, as they tell him how happy they are for him. Then the entire administration staff, along with the Academy staff, accost him in the break room to wish him well. One of them suggests pouring a toast to celebrate, even though it’s eight in the morning.

Had it not been for his classes, Iruka would have had to stay behind and be bombarded with this shit, which makes him wonder if maybe, he had also won the lottery he’d randomly taken a part in last week, the one with the nice prize money.

That has to be it.

This can’t all be because of Kakashi.

As if the Academy had been bad enough, the mission room is a complete  _nightmare._

Jounin and tokubetsu jounin alike had approached him to shake his hand like he's someone important — the entire damn shift.

It has to be the lottery. Right?

But then, someone says, wow, you really tamed Hatake Kakashi, tied him down, huh? How did you manage to do it, Sensei?

And Iruka is on his feet and delivering his best lecturing sermon to the jounin, way past Iruka's rank in seniority, experience and age, but he doesn't care. Iruka strips him down, tells him that this is no way to conduct business in the mission room, that slandering the name of your fellow jounin is unacceptable and dishonorable, spreading such lies is even worse,  _what is wrong with you?_

The lecture is loud and so awkward for people within earshot, that for the rest of the night, Iruka is mercifully left to his own devices.

It’s late at night, right before Iruka comes off his shift, that Kakashi finally shows up in the mission room, looking quite frazzled for wear and clutching a wilted bouquet of flowers that looks like it’s seen better days.

He had arrived in Konoha earlier in the morning, and from the moment he walked through the gates of the village, he was met with a chorus of congratulations.

It didn’t seem to make any sense — Kakashi hadn’t done anything of note to deserve such adulation, yet everywhere he went, people looked at him with bright smiles and glittering eyes, like something marvelous had just happened. Even strangers in the street beamed at him when he passed them by.

To his consternation, everyone in the village seemed to be congratulating him about Iruka — as though a one night stand was worthy of congratulations.

Somehow, it seemed as though the entire damn village knew about them, and seemed to have gotten the wrong idea. Gai stopped Kakashi and spouted on and on about how happy he was that his Eternal Rival finally found someone worthy of a lifetime of love and passion and happiness, until he was blubbering with tears and clinging to Kakashi’s waist — and didn’t seem to believe him, no matter how much he tried to tell Gai that it wasn’t that way.

While at the grocery store, he bumped into Genma and Raidou, who gave him shiteating grins and clapped him on the shoulder and asked him how long he and Iruka had been an item, and how they managed to keep it a secret for so long.

With how everyone kept on  _congratulating_ him for bedding Iruka, the only saving grace was the fact that Naruto, Sakura, and Sai were out on a mission and were luckily nowhere near all of the ridiculous gossip that seemed to keep spiraling out of control.

And just when Kakashi thought that things couldn’t get worse, he arrived home from the grocery store to discover a huge pile of flowers at his door, many of which had congratulatory cards attached to them. But it was one particular bouquet that caught his eye — the one with the lacquered plastic insert. And on that insert, the following characters were spelled out:  
  
**CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MARRIAGE!** 　

It’s this particular bouquet that Kakashi slams down in front of Iruka at the mission desk, sending petals flying. Iruka had been drawing a circle on what looked like a quiz, and the act had turned the circle into a squiggled line that he frowns down on.

“Explain this,” Kakashi says, and he really doesn’t know how he manages to keep his voice so even and calm, when he feels anything but.

But instead of providing an explanation, Iruka simply sets his pen down and presses his finger against the side of the bouquet to push it aside, and then looks up at Kakashi with an incredulous expression. "It's a congratulatory bouquet, Kakashi-san. Obviously. Congratulating you." The word  _idiot_ isn't said out loud, but Kakashi can hear it clearly in Iruka’s tone. "The mission room does not condone the acceptance of  bribes or pacifying trinkets and flattery for sub-par or  _late_ reports. No mission report, no entertainment. Forms are that way. Please leave if that is all."

Iruka spares neither Kakashi nor said bouquet another glance and goes back to trying to fix his red circle, and Kakashi decides he’s had enough of this shit. There’s a card affixed to the bouquet, which bears both his and Iruka’s names on the front of the envelope. He reaches out, rips it off, and plops it down right on top of the quiz Iruka was trying to mark.

For a long moment, Iruka just stares. And then, he grabs the envelope and rips it open carelessly, eyes frantically reading the message.

It’s from Ebisu and his family. Had it it been simply signed by Ebisu, Iruka would have not taken it as seriously. But, it's from the  _family_ and Iruka knows when something sounds fairly serious.

This has to be a sick joke.

Iruka's chair scrapes back loudly as he stands and shoves the card back into the dilapidated envelope, not breaking eye contact with Kakashi throughout, even as he attaches the card back to the card holder. He wants to  _scream_. Wants to curse. He’s completely losing his shit, if the furious red flush on his cheeks and throb of the visible vein on his temples are any indication.

What comes out instead is polite and measured. "I am sure there's been a mistake. Perhaps, if you returned the bouquet to the florist, you can clarify the matter at once."

“There is an entire pile of these in front of my door, Iruka.” Kakashi doesn’t know how his voice comes out so steady, when he feels like he’s standing on quicksand. Like the earth below his feet is threatening to open and swallow him at any time. There’s this terrible, sinking sense that what happened two nights ago in Tanzaku must not have just been as simple as a meaningless one night stand.

“Apparently, the entire village thinks that we got married,” he somehow manages to say.

"But we didn't!" There's a tinge of hysteria in Iruka's voice as he thinks back over the events of the day. The congratulations, the cake at lunch, the coffees in between, the line of jounin wanting to shake his hand — Iruka finds himself taking a step back from the desk, trying to put as much distance between himself and the bouquet and Kakashi. "I am sure there is a misunderstanding. Because we are  _not_ married. No fucking way!" Decorum be damned. Iruka grabs his belongings and starts packing. This can’t be on Kakashi, because even if it is his idea of a joke — a terrible one, at that — Iruka is sure that Kakashi wouldn't waste his time on  _him,_ of all people.

“I’m well aware of that,” Kakashi says dryly as he straightens up from his position hovering over the mission desk. “But it seems that the village doesn’t know that, and apparently, everyone seems to believe otherwise.”

"Well, if it's not in the family registry, then it's  _not_ true! And I’m sure, it’s  _not_ in the family registry. And we, unfortunately, live in a village that thrives on  _gossip_." Iruka locks up the desk, grabs his satchell and heads straight for the door. "Are you coming? And throw that offending thing away, please."

Kakashi decides, as he tosses the bouquet into the trash can by the door, that he is never, ever getting drunk again, even if Gai challenges him to a drinking contest. He wordlessly follows behind Iruka all the way to the records room.

 

 

*

 

Accessing the records room doesn't take too long.

Finding the record doesn't even take more than a few minutes of carefully going through rows and rows of scrolls. Iruka finds the Umino family registry and pulls it out.

His first warning should have been the fact that the scroll isn't dusty.

It had been recently touched.

His second warning should have been the smell of fresh ink when he unfurls it open.

And right there, next to his name, is Kakashi’s, marking the transfer of his name to the Hatake registry, and the date of their union in Tanzaku.

Iruka stares, an earthquake opening up inside his chest.

The scroll drops from Iruka’s hand and clatters to the ground, as panic rises swift and fast and merciless. He darts down the records room, a few shelves down where the Hatake registry would be located, where Kakashi stands with the scroll unfurled in his hands, staring down in shock.

Because right there, in clear, black ink, is Iruka’s name, next to his own, within his family registry, along with the date of their wedding in Tanzaku.

Somehow, they’re really married.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> [panda_shi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi) and I have been writing Kakashi and Iruka together for 9 years, and this fic feels like the culmination of all our years co-writing. Unlike past fics, which we left unfinished due to any number of reasons, we have already actually almost finished this one (we have around 200 pages worth of content already!) We'll be editing and posting up new chapters at least once every week, so be sure to **subscribe**! (We'll try to update on weekends.)
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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by [sub_textual](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual). Stock imagery from Naruto wiki and Catka.com.
> 
>  _Soundtrack:_ [Muse - Ruled By Secrecy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKiayHSR4DI)

 

Everything within Kakashi goes very still as he stares.

This has to be some kind of terrible joke.

This can’t possibly be happening — _there simply is no way they could have gotten married._

Kakashi refuses to accept what he’s actually seeing. He tells himself that he must be hallucinating. That this must be some kind of terrible genjutsu, or a dream that he’ll wake from any moment. Or, perhaps, the cruelest prank he’s ever experienced.

The characters on the scroll won’t disappear no matter how long he tries to wish them away, as though staring at them long enough would somehow make the ink unwrite itself from the page.

"Please tell me you're staring at your family registry with relief.” Iruka’s voice breaks through the white-hot static in Kakashi’s ears like a clarion bell, and Kakashi decides, at that very moment, that he must be dreaming.

“Iruka,” he says, and his voice comes out strained. He looks up at Iruka then, and meets his eyes squarely. “I need you to hit me.”

Logic dictates: if this is a dream, then it won’t hurt.

Iruka blinks and flinches at the request, like he’s been burned.

But determination settles into his gaze, and then he slaps Kakashi right across the face.

The slap resonates through the empty records room, and pain radiates sharply from where Iruka’s hand connected with Kakashi’s jaw, the blow hard enough to whip Kakashi's head to the right.

"Was that hard enough?" Iruka asks, careful and uncertain, as Kakashi sucks in a sharp breath.

The exhale that comes out of Kakashi is harsh and trembling. He definitely felt that — which can only mean this isn’t a dream, and he’s very much awake.

This is real. This is happening.

Somehow, in the midst of blackout inebriation, Kakashi and Iruka had decided to get married.

Kakashi looks back at Iruka, and silently hands him the Hatake family registry.

Iruka remains very still as his eyes settle on their names in crisp, black ink. This can’t be happening, he thinks mutely, as panic rises within him like a cresting wave, until all he can feel is the pressure of it choking the breath out of his lungs and the sound out of his ears. And all he can hear is the rush of his blood in his ears and the deafening sound of his heart, as the wave breaks and the flood follows.

Iruka throws his head back and starts to laugh. He laughs like a thing possessed to the point of tears, as he points at the names and looks at Kakashi with something crazed in his eyes.

"This is so funny! Oh they're good. They're so, so good!” Iruka’s voice borders on hysteria as he desperately tries to keep himself afloat, but all that comes out is a torrent of words he doesn’t even hear, even when his mouth is forming the syllables. “Even I wouldn't have pulled this off if I fucking tried. Well done, whoever!" Iruka claps his hands together, like they’d somehow uncovered the best fucking joke.

"I know this isn't real because we don't even move in the same circle! We don't even speak to each other! Or hang out! Even at the Hokage's birthday, we may have been both present but we certainly didn't interact! And, ha, ha, ha, let's face it, you and I — I mean come on, would you even consider me a fuck buddy?

“Forget spouse — we're not even — we didn't even date! Not even drinks! Beyond hello and hi and a very stony _nod from you_ , we don't even — no. Marriage is about love and passion and understanding and wanting to spend the rest of your _fucking lives together!_ THAT'S THE BARE MINIMUM." Iruka is screaming. And he doesn't know it, doesn’t realize how the blood had rushed to his face, darkening his cheeks red.

"WHICH WE DON'T EVEN FUCKING MEET! I WANT TO BE MARRIED TO SOMEONE I LOVE, DAMMIT! AND YOU, HATAKE KAKASHI, CERTAINLY DO NOT LOVE ME! SO THIS IS A LIE AND A JOKE. AND IT'S VERY GOOD — OH MY GOD, I CAN'T BREATHE."

Iruka takes a step back, and presses a hand to his chest, as all the breath punches its way out of his lungs and he’s breathing a little too hard, and a little too fast, as he shoves the scroll back at Kakashi quite harshly, pushing it against Kakashi's chest. "Oh heavens above, I can't take this kind of weird shit anymore, I'm not _fucking sixteen!”_

Kakashi does what he does best, in situations like these — he shuts down, closes up. Stamps down the unfurling edges of himself and smooths his expression to something unreadable and impassive, as he kills the thing inside of him that’s bordering on wild panic, which had swelled so violently for a moment, he thought he would choke on it.

“Are you done.” It’s not quite a question, as he levels a stare down at Iruka.

Clearly, they had done something extraordinarily stupid — getting married, while blackout drunk. But this isn’t the end of the world. It’s not like this can’t be fixed. All that they will need to do is simply have the marriage annulled, which shouldn’t be all that difficult to do, given the circumstances.

"I want a divorce," Iruka says, without another thought. "I know the staff who handle this. Would you like to go there first thing in the morning? They start serving the public at eight."

Iruka is breathing too fast, but at least he isn't shouting anymore.

“I’ll be there,” Kakashi agrees, as he furls the scroll up carefully.

And after it’s all over, they’ll have to make a village-wide announcement, and then agree to never talk about it again.

 

*

 

Iruka doesn't sleep a wink that night, but manages to show up at eight looking as neat and presentable as he always is, if not for the bags and bloodshot eyes. He arrives a good ten minutes early to read the procedures of the divorce, leafing through page after page of instructions, and picking out the correct forms as the counters prepare to open to the public.

He expects Kakashi to be late, so he takes his time with the paperwork.

But, for once in his life, Kakashi actually shows up early.

He doesn’t want to be married for even a minute longer than he has to be, and would like for this ordeal to be over with as soon as possible. Somehow, he had managed to dodge everyone on the way home last night, and spent the rest of the night more or less staring at his ceiling, and counting the hours till the sun rose.

He still doesn’t know how he and Iruka not only decided to get married, while completely drunk, but _no one stopped them_ from going through with the ceremony, when so many of their friends had been present. In fact, it seems that everyone actually supported the union.

Kakashi thinks he has a few faces he needs to put his fist into, as soon as he’s finished cleaning up the mess he and Iruka made.

He doesn’t greet Iruka as he arrives. He simply steps alongside him, then reaches out for one of the pamphlets Iruka is looking over.

It’s not like Kakashi to show up on time, let alone _early_. Iruka can’t hide his surprise. He opens his mouth and searches for words, but none come out. The situation is clearly as distressing for Kakashi as it is for Iruka, he realizes, as he studies the tension that lines Kakashi’s shoulders and clenches in his jaw. He exhales slowly and then carefully starts telling Kakashi what he already knows, showing him the forms he had gathered, and how they would have to fill out two sets individually.

Then extra pen Iruka hands over with a bit of a defeated smile is an olive branch, as he tilts his head to the counters lining one wall where they can fill out everything.  

The office is surprisingly empty, which Iruka finds quite strange because it's usually full.

"We can probably be done by lunchtime," he says, looking a little sheepish.

“Good,” Kakashi says, as he takes the pen from Iruka and starts to fill out his set of forms. “The sooner, the better.”

The sooner they have their marriage annulled, the sooner they can go back to their lives, and for everything to go right back to normal. And maybe, some months or years down the line, they might actually look back at this entire ordeal and be able to laugh about it, together.

But right now, Kakashi doesn’t find anything amusing about it at all — it was a terrible mistake, after all.

They fall into silence, with only the sound of pens scratching across paper filling up the space in between, as they fill out form after form, and then Iruka goes to the counter to get a ticket number for them.

There’s no line waiting, so the counter clerk calls them right away.

The forms are pushed into the little tray and the clerk, who looks ready to fall asleep and doesn’t even look at who’s standing before him, leafs through the papers and arranges them in some order.

“Your divorce papers will be placed in queue for review, once Shiroyuki-sama returns in six months,” the clerk tells them.

“That’s unacceptable,” Kakashi says, the grit in his voice sounding like disbelief, as he steps forward past Iruka, who stands there in shock, eyes wide, as he stares at the clerk in mute horror.

Kakashi slaps an open palm down on the surface of the counter, startling the clerk into snapping his eyes up, looking at him for the first time. When he realizes — _really realizes —_ that the next Hokage is standing right before him, he suddenly straightens up from his half-asleep slouch very quickly, eyes wide and startled.

“You will process this paperwork immediately.” It’s an order, and Kakashi leaves no room for any refusal. “Is that clear?”

All the blood rushes out of the clerk’s face, and his skin breaks out with a sheen of sweat, which rolls down his temple as he trembles under the pressure of the palpable anger radiating off Kakashi’s frame. He swallows nervously, eyes darting between Kakashi and Iruka.

“Ka-Kakashi-sa-sama, I didn’t realize it-it was you,” he stutters, clearly terrified out of his mind. “I-I-I’m very sorry, but I don’t have the-the power to-to—”

“I don’t care.” Kakashi reaches out and grabs the papers, then slaps them down, right in front of the clerk, jabbing a finger to the top page. “Figure it out. I’m sure you can manage.”

There’s a certain panicked helplessness in the clerk’s eyes, as he stares at Kakashi, that takes the edge off the anger boiling inside of Iruka. His shoulders slump as he reaches forward to press a hand gently to Kakashi's tense shoulder, in an attempt to calm him.

They will gain nothing by yelling at a clerk who is simply doing his job and following operating procedures.

"Is your supervisor here?" Iruka asks, calmer, a touch softer, but not short on firmness. The clerk nods. "Go get your supervisor. Go."

The clerk scampers off his chair and flees, taking their papers with him.

It makes no sense that there would need to be a six month delay to annul a marriage that neither Kakashi nor Iruka remember — or ever would have consented to, had they been sound of mind.

If they can’t get their marriage annulled, they technically won’t be allowed to continue to maintain their residences in the bachelor wards; they will be required to cohabit together, as all married couples must do, given the limited long-term housing options in Konoha.

And as they wait for the supervisor, Kakashi briefly considers returning to the records room and conveniently burning up both the Hatake and Umino family registries. Maybe then, they can pretend like nothing ever happened.

The supervisor turns out to be an elderly lady with a walking cane. Iruka recognizes her and knows that if she says six months, it will be six months. The stern expression on the rumored ex-ANBU is all the confirmation Iruka needs.

She comes to the window and tells them exactly why it will be a six month wait and leaves no room for argument, with a poker-faced expression that rivals Kakashi's own. The official and team in charge of all annulments, issuance of certificates, notaries, and all other matters of public record are currently on a diplomatic exchange with Suna as part of their treaty. All new applications as of the beginning of the previous month are on hold, unless it is a severe emergency that falls under the category of domestic violence.

This can’t possibly be happening, Kakashi thinks, as he stares at the supervisor’s receding back, when she turns and shuffles back to her office.

There has to be _some_ kind of loophole somewhere. He can’t accept the idea that just because the team in charge of paperwork doesn’t happen to be in Konoha at present, that somehow means that a sham of a marriage can’t somehow be annulled by _someone_ in the village.

“I suppose we will have to bring this to Tsunade-sama,” Kakashi says after a moment of awkward silence. And then, without waiting for Iruka to respond, he turns and heads out the door.

 

*

 

"What brings you two here?" Tsunade asks with her eyebrows nearly touching her hairline.

“Tsunade-sama, Iruka-sensei and I need you to annul our marriage,” Kakashi says, without missing a beat.

“ _Hah?_ _”_ is Tsunade’s only response, confusion flitting across her features.

“It seems that Iruka-sensei and I had gotten very drunk at your birthday party, and somehow ended up getting married,” Kakashi explains, as clinically and as professionally as possible. “We tried to get the marriage annulled, but it appears that Shiroyuki-sama and his team are currently on a diplomatic mission, and the paperwork cannot be processed for six months.”

Kakashi is terribly embarrassed and angry that all of this has happened, but right now, he is focused on the sole mission of obtaining an annulment, as soon as possible. There isn’t room for him to think about how humiliating all of this is; how ridiculous it makes him look — that he, Hatake Kakashi, the incumbent Rokudaime Hokage, had allowed himself to become so inebriated that he’d lost full control of all his mental faculties and somehow gotten married.

Surely, Tsunade would understand the gravity of the situation, and would find some way around the paperwork obstacle — or so Kakashi thought.

Instead, she blinks in disbelief, and then after a moment of silence, bursts out laughing.

_And she doesn’t stop._

Iruka watches with his face as hot as a furnace as Tsunade tries to speak. She genuinely tries to get a word out, but only succeeds in dissolving into peals of laughter, throwing her head back and curling in on herself. It gets worse when the laugh escalates into wheezes, and then horse-like snorts. Tsunade can barely even _breathe._

She takes one look at the pair of them and the cycle begins all over again.

Tsunade points a finger at Kakashi, and manages to say half of his name before she loses her mind and starts to clap, bursting into another peal of laughter that has her doubling over on her desk, slapping her hand on the surface.

"Heavens above..." Iruka murmurs, bringing a hand to cover half of his very hot face.

All the while, Kakashi has to summon every single ounce of self-control he has within him to keep himself in one place, even as his face burns behind his mask, along with the rest of him.

He supposes, if he had been in her place, he would have found all of this rather amusing. It isn’t every day, after all, that two shinobi admit that they’d somehow had a drunken misadventure and gotten _married_ , and somehow didn’t remember any of it. He can’t really blame Tsunade for her reaction, even if being audience to it is the last thing he wants to do.

But Kakashi can’t leave — not without getting what he came here for.

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he sighs and waits patiently for Tsunade to get her shit together.

It takes a solid five minutes before Tsunade somehow manages to recover her faculties, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Oh my goodness,” she manages to wheeze out, pressing a hand to her chest. “Of all of the ridiculous things I’ve heard, that one, by far, takes the cake. You’ve really done yourself in this time, Kakashi.”

Any moment now, the humiliation can end, and Tsunade can agree to the annulment, Kakashi thinks, as he stands there with his hands in his pockets, trying to keep his face as impassive and as unreadable as he can.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to help you,” Tsunade says, and everything inside of Kakashi drops out from under him.

“Tsunade-sama, surely, you can—”

“—as you well know,” Tsunade continues, talking right over Kakashi, “the Hokage can only intervene in marital affairs if and only if a serious crime, such as domestic violence, has occurred. Then, and only then, can I exercise my powers as Hokage to make changes in the koseki.”

“I don’t suppose you can make an exception.” Kakashi’s voice can’t sound any more dry.

Tsunade scoffs. “You know quite well if I made an exception for you, I would have to make an exception for the rest of the village. The two of you are going to just have to live with this for the next little while. It’s only six months, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Desperation, apparently, calls for severely questionable methods.  Iruka tries. He really does. At the price of sounding like an idiot. "Hokage-sama, I slapped him yesterday and felt good about it. That's quite violent, right?"

Tsunade just looks at him. "Iruka. Don't make me laugh."

Iruka just sighs, shoulders slumping. It had been a long shot to begin with, anyway. "Thank you for your time, Hokage-sama."

Tsunade waves her hand at them. "You both know what to do. The Housing Authority should provide you with adequate quarters. You no longer qualify to live in the bachelor ward, anymore, so here." She scribbles a note, stamps it with her seal, and hands it over to Kakashi. "That should speed up the process and lessen the hassle."

Kakashi stands there in stunned silence as he stares down at the note like he doesn’t quite understand what he’s looking at.

For a moment, he wonders if maybe he could just take an S-rank six month mission somewhere and conveniently pass the time outside of Konoha without having to deal with this mess. He supposes, failing that, he could always just take Iruka to the training fields and go a few rounds with him until he’s bruised and bloody enough for it to pass as domestic violence.

“And Kakashi? Don’t even think about trying to do something extraordinarily stupid,” Tsunade says, with a bit of a knowing smirk. “In order for the domestic violence charge to hold, you would need to be formally charged with it. I’m sure you understand what that would mean.”

Kakashi would be placed immediately on suspension, and would then have to go through with a trial. If he was actually convicted for domestic violence, like all other abusers, he would be immediately remanded to prison.

Obviously, that isn’t going to be an option.

Kakashi sighs, shoulders slumping as his head droops. “Yes, Tsunade-sama.”

If the thought had even crossed Iruka's mind at all, it promptly gets flushed out with Tsunade's response. He feels his throat go dry, heart palpitating wildly, as he accepts Tsunade’s decision, then politely excuses himself and stiffly shows himself out of the office and down the hall. Each step feels like a step towards the edge of a cliff, and it’s only a matter of time before Iruka falls, and crashes against the rocks below.

And just like that, there it is again — the flood sweeping in, tearing through him until Iruka can barely breathe. And all he can do is think to himself that this is ridiculous. That he needs to get his shit together. That he shouldn’t be panicking, because Umino Iruka can’t panic, when he handles children, and there’s never any room for that sort of thing.

Yet here he is, trying to keep his shit together, because he is on his way to pack up his entire life in boxes. Everything, from what little he owns and what little he had managed to salvage from Konoha’s destruction during the war.

He can't swallow this irresponsibility sober.

"I'll just meet you there,” Iruka tells Kakashi, “whenever you want.”

They don’t have long to vacate. Normally, these arrangements are carried out before the wedding ceremony.  And normally, the parties involved are more than happy to start their lives together.

But there is nothing normal about this particular situation.

The last thing Kakashi wants to do is to meet Iruka at the Housing Authority, or pack up his life and move into a shared space with someone else.

He hasn’t lived with anyone since his father died; he doesn’t even know what that would be like, or how he’s supposed to function in such close proximity to Iruka on a daily basis, or how he’ll have any privacy at all.

Home was always the place Kakashi could go to hide away from the world when he wasn’t hiding in plain sight in front of the memorial, or tucking himself behind the safety of his colorful little books. It was where he could take off the armored parts of himself he walks around in all day, that somehow coalesce into the shape of a man, and let himself fade into the shadows, bleeding out the parts of him that are too ugly, too shameful, for the world to see.

He won’t be able to hide from Iruka — not easily.

“If it were up to me, it would be never,” Kakashi says, not caring how sharply the words fall, as he walks away from Iruka.

He could use a stiff drink, but given the fact that drinking was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, Kakashi settles for broken knuckles and blood instead.

 

*

 

No one said that shinobi had healthy coping mechanisms when subjected to unnecessary stress.

Kakashi, of all people, had the worst of it.

Tenzou finds him in the Forest of Death, reading his book, a trail of dead creatures somewhere east, which Tenzou knows is all Kakashi's doing.

It's dark by the time he steps out of the shadows and into the light of the fire, hands tucked into his pockets. He gives the roasting boar on the spit a cursory look and resists rolling his eyes.

"One week into your marriage and you look like shit. You don't pull off the hermit lifestyle that well," Tenzou says.

“I don’t suppose you could just report back to Tsunade-sama and tell her that you couldn’t find me,” Kakashi says dryly as he looks up from his book at Tenzou.

"But I do know where you are," Tenzou says. "If I don't bring you back, you will be automatically suspended. This isn't just about you anymore. You are breaking a few laws, Senpai,” Tenzou says as he comes to take a seat next to Kakashi on a rock. "Look at the bright side. Your husband is quite attractive.” Tenzou’s gaze washes over Kakashi, careful and assessing. "Your call, Senpai. What do you want to do?"

Kakashi’s sigh is long suffering, a loud exhalation that slumps his shoulders, as he snaps his book shut. “What I want is to get divorced, but apparently that’s not possible.”

"The timing is inconvenient," Tenzou agrees with a nod. "But it is not impossible. Technically, you should be getting housing that matches your station. That should be big enough for the both of you to avoid each other, hmm? You don't _have_ to see him." He pauses for a moment. "Or you can actually try this relationship thing." Tenzou flashes him a wide grin.

The response Tenzou gets is a rather unimpressed look from Kakashi and a beat of uncomfortable silence.

Even if the house were large enough that would make it possible for Kakashi to avoid Iruka, the fact of the matter remains that his space would no longer be private — he would no longer have somewhere safe to unwind, to decompress. To take off the parts of himself that he doesn’t usually walk around in all day.

Though Iruka had seen his face, he hadn’t seen what really lies underneath it. And Kakashi doesn’t particularly want to share that part of himself.

“You know very well that the size of the house isn’t the issue,” he says, after a moment.

"I'm aware." Tenzou holds Kakashi's gaze unflinchingly. He understands where Kakashi is coming from, why he doesn't want to just get on with this. Reality, however, isn't going to change anytime soon, and Tenzou knows that life, in general, is to be taken with a little grain of salt. "This isn't going to go your way. And you know it. You're stuck. No one would want to be in your position or his. Do you honestly think he wants this, too?"

_(I want to be married to someone I love, god dammit! And you, Hatake Kakashi, certainly do not love me!)_

“Of course he doesn’t.” Kakashi knows that this is the last thing Iruka wants. Iruka is someone who believes in the concept of marriage, and the idea of marrying someone that you love, someone you can spend the rest of your life with. Someone who you can call your own, who you belong to, as well.

But Kakashi doesn’t believe in any of that at all — at least, not for himself.

Shinobi like him don’t get to have a fairytale ending; don’t get to love.

They’re too broken for it, to know how to hold onto something precious like love, when they can barely hold onto the fractured pieces of themselves.   

"Let's get you to Tsunade-sama," Tenzou coaxes after a long moment, turning his gaze to the fire, a touch softer around the edges. "Afterwards, I'll help you pack what you need to pack. The sooner you get this over and done with, the sooner you can go on missions. Does that sound like a plan, Senpai?"

If it were up to Kakashi, he wouldn’t go back at all. He would stay in this forest for six months, or anywhere he doesn’t have to give up his privacy.

“Can’t you just build me a house where I can live alone?” Kakashi asks, knowing it’s a far shot.

Tenzou gives him a flat look, and all he says is, “Senpai. I have my orders. You know I can’t.”

Kakashi does know, which is what makes this all the more difficult.

 

*

Eventually, Kakashi finds himself standing before Tsunade.

She dresses him down more brutally than she ever has before, telling him that he needs to get his shit together, that it’s really not that big of a deal. There are also no long-term S-rank missions that he could possibly take, to get away from Konoha for six months. Kakashi’s stuck in Konoha for the foreseeable future, and any missions he could possibly take wouldn’t last more than a day or two at most. A week, if he's really lucky.

"You are going to be the next Hokage, Kakashi. I’m sure you and Iruka can figure it out," she tells him, but Kakashi doesn’t know how they’re going to manage to figure anything out at all.

“Now, go to meet Iruka at the Housing Authority.”  The expression on his face must say too much, because she then tells him to treat it like a mission. 

"That’s an order," she says, and Kakashi realizes there really is no way out of this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We hope you enjoyed this chapter! We will be updating at least once a week, going forward, so be sure to **subscribe** if you'd like to keep up with our new chapter releases. 
> 
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> \---
> 
> In case you're wondering, the scroll Kakashi is holding says, from left to right: 
> 
> Under his thumb: Hatake 
> 
> Column 1:  
> Spouse  
> Umino Iruka  
> (Umino Seal)
> 
> Column 2:  
> Husband  
> Hatake Kakashi  
> (Hatake Seal)
> 
> Column 3:  
> Wedding  
> August 2nd  
> Tanzaku  
> (Fire Country Official Seal)
> 
> I decided to go with the official kanji for "Hatake" and "Umino" instead of hiragana, as it felt more formal and looked nicer stylistically.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** Sakumo's death is described graphically in this chapter.

The Housing Authority is in a stout building just a few blocks away from the Hokage Tower.

Kakashi doesn’t rush there, despite the order. He takes his time meandering through the streets of Konoha at a leisurely pace, as children run past him, chasing one another with pinwheels spinning in their hands.

He dips into the book store briefly, to breathe in the scent of ink and paper and look through the new releases in the romance section, before settling in front of a shelf of bright colored books, and ends up walking out with yet another copy of _Icha Icha Tactics_ , which he cracks open in the middle of the street.

The feeling of fresh, new pages under his fingers doesn’t excite him the way it usually does.

There’s no thrill rushing down his spine, no flurry of anticipation in his chest.

The stark black characters leap off the page, but Kakashi barely sees them.

All he can feel is the knot at the pit of his stomach, the inevitability of the six month sentence he will need to begin carrying out within the next twenty-four hours.

Even if he tells himself it’s no different than any other six month mission, the truth remains: this isn’t just a mission. He’d actually gone and gotten himself married, and now he has to live with the consequences of his foolishness.

It takes a solid half hour, but eventually, Kakashi ends up in front of the Housing Authority, where he finds Iruka sitting on the steps with his elbows braced on his knees and his face dropped into his hands. His usually tidy ponytail is a little frazzled, strands of hair flying around his face.

Iruka looks like hell, Kakashi thinks, as he closes the distance between them and comes to a stop in front of him, clearing his throat.

There isn’t much of an expression on Iruka’s face when he finally looks up. He’d been packed for three days, and had spent the entire time waiting for Kakashi to finally show up. He hadn’t been entirely sure if Kakashi actually would — and though the extra time Kakashi had bought them both had given Iruka an extra few days to appreciate the creature comforts of living alone, being in limbo hadn’t been particularly pleasant — especially when one is being evicted.

Iruka gives Kakashi a cursory look and an acknowledging nod, before he rolls up onto his feet and wordlessly heads inside.

After a moment of hesitation, Kakashi’s footsteps echo behind.

The office is expecting them, so the clerk quickly waves them towards one of the office, where an old man with wrinkles lining his tanned face and beady eyes glinting behind large, round glasses sits behind a desk piled high with stacks of books, and scrolls. A nameplate engraved with “TANAKA YOSHIRO” sits at the edge of his desk.

When Kakashi and Iruka enter, he offers them a smile that carves more wrinkles into his face, but does not rise from his seat. “Congratulations on your marriage, Kakashi-sama, Iruka-san!” he begins, and it takes nearly all of Kakashi’s self-control to not roll his eyes as he tensely settles into a chair next to Iruka.

“There’s no need for the ‘sama.’”

‘“But you are the incumbent Rokudaime Hokage,” Tanaka protests.

“Until my inauguration, I am just a jounin. ‘Kakashi-san’ is fine.”

Tanaka pauses for a moment, and looks between Kakashi and Iruka, and then clears his throat.

“Very well. Kakashi-san it is. As you well know, now that you are both married, you no longer qualify to live in the bachelor wards,” Tanaka explains. “However, Kakashi-san, due to your impeccable mission record, and many years of excellent service, you and your spouse are now eligible for a wide selection of housing subsidized by Konohagakure. Once you choose a home, the deed will be transferred officially into your name.

“As you are the incumbent Rokudaime Hokage, you will be expected to vacate the residence and move to the Hokage residence upon your inauguration, unless you intend to purchase the deed from Konohagakure. Should you retire as Hokage, you may then select another residence thereafter.”

“What happens when we get divorced?” Kakashi asks, glancing at Iruka, who meets his eyes briefly before turning a barely veiled, curious gaze towards Tanaka, expecting a clear answer, lips thinning briefly.  

Tanaka looks quite taken aback at the question. “Heavens,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest, as though completely scandalized at the thought. After a moment, he regains his composure and clears his throat. “In the event of a divorce prior to inauguration, Iruka-san will no longer be qualified for subsidized marital housing, and will be required to move back to the bachelor ward, where an apartment will be supplied for him, based on his mission record and service to Konoha. However, Kakashi-san, because you will be Hokage, you will be provided an exception to continue enjoying the comforts of the house, until you move officially to the Hokage residence.

“In the event that you are already Hokage…” Tanaka clears his throat uncomfortably. “You will be able to set your own rules as to how you would like for Iruka-san’s housing to be handled.”

Kakashi doesn’t miss the way that Tanaka seems to primarily address him, and him alone — as though Iruka were not sitting next to him, and was instead some kind of ornament that belonged to him. It settles uncomfortably within him, the idea that Iruka has no say in the matter.

Tanaka pulls out a heavy tome and sets it on the desk before Kakashi.

“These are your choices. Please take your time and look them over,” Tanaka unhelpfully suggests with a strained smile, as his eyes flit cautiously over to Iruka.

Kakashi stares down at the page the book opened on.

It’s a three bedroom, two bathroom house with two floors and what appears to be a modest backyard. A decent size, from what Kakashi can tell. A wonderful gem of a home, Tanaka chimes in with a beneficent smile.

Kakashi mutely flips to the next page, and this time it’s one of the large, spacious duplex condos in the newer high-rise luxury tower that was recently built after the war. Tanaka explains that the condo has state of the art technology, and special climate control. Its wall to ceiling windows in the living room offer the best views of Konoha possible, and is perfect for entertaining.

The next page appears to be yet another house — this time, with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and an incredibly large, spacious backyard. The first floor has an open floor plan, with an extra study, and a wide, expansive kitchen. The engawa faces east and catches the most incredible sunrises, Tanaka exclaims with a twinkle in his eye.

Kakashi sighs, and then pushes the book over to Iruka and sits back.

“Here. You decide.” The defeat in his voice grinds its way out between the syllables.

Iruka looks up from the grain of the table to quirk an eyebrow at Kakashi; he doesn’t understand why he is being told to choose. Judging by Kakashi’s body language, they’ll be here longer if Iruka attempts to tell him that as the head of the family, Kakashi should decide. So he takes the book, and starts flipping through it, quickly ruling out the various condos, and settles upon the house he had noticed that Kakashi had paused on — the one Tanaka had claimed offered “incredible sunrises.”

It’s a ridiculous house. Iruka’s eyes sweep over the pictures — taking in the garden, which features an enormous sycamore tree, a koi pond, and beautifully manicured landscaping. It’s fully fenced with high stone walls, which would be ideal for privacy. The features inside the house are all quite spectacular as well — fine finishing, very fancy bathrooms.  

Most importantly, they’ll be all alone. Away from prying eyes and nosy villagers.

Which is all Iruka wants at this point.

He doesn’t need the gossip to be fueled more than it already is.

“This one has a lot of space and privacy. What do you think?” Iruka turns the catalogue towards Kakashi, along with the map. It goes without saying, _we won’t have to deal with the village or each other._

Kakashi glances down at the page, and makes a noncommittal hum that sounds like a yes.

“This one, please,” Iruka tells Tanaka, and then sinks back into the chair, arms folding across his chest.

“Oh, an excellent choice! Excellent indeed!” Tanaka’s excitement glints in his eyes. “This is the perfect house for a young couple such as yourselves! You will be able to host guests and entertain quite—”

“Can we just get on with it?” Kakashi asks, interrupting Tanaka mid-sentence.

The old man looks a touch perturbed, but then he forces a smile onto his face and excuses himself to fetch the paperwork — which there happens to be quite a lot of. Kakashi balks at the amount of papers he has to sign and apparently read through, but seeing as this housing is temporary, he doesn’t bother to read any of the fine print, and simply signs where indicated, then stamps the forms with his hanko seal to officiate it.

An hour later, he and Iruka are apparently the proud new owners of a house, and they each have a set of their own keys.

Tanaka lets Kakashi know that he has twenty-four hours to vacate his current apartment, and apologizes for the inconvenience, though Kakashi knows he isn’t sorry at all.

“Thank you for your time,” Iruka says, standing up and pocketing his keys. He doesn’t wait for a response after he dips his head respectfully, murmuring a soft I’ll-wait-outside at Kakashi, quickly turning to leave.

His uniform suddenly feels too suffocating.

He needs fresh air.

Iruka pushes back his hitai-ate, taking it off completely to pocket, as he tugs at the collar of his shirt, trying to push down the feeling which he knows has nothing to do with his uniform.

“Well, I guess I have some packing to do,” Kakashi says as he walks past Iruka. “So I’ll see you around.”

He doesn’t linger for a response, and walks away without looking back.

The next time he sees Iruka, he knows that they’ll be under the roof of the house they’ll have to share for the next six months — a house that is far too large, with a ridiculous backyard and too many rooms that will remain mostly empty.

A house that will never be a home, because home is the place people look forward to at the end of each day.

But this house is not what either of them ever wanted.

So it isn’t home.

And it’ll never be.

 

*

 

The last time Iruka lived in a house was when he was ten years old.

It wasn’t a big house by any means — a modest two bedroom, single-level building, with a small yard and a bright kitchen that Iruka spent most of his time in, drawing or reading or eating snacks. Sometimes, when he was lucky, and his mother was feeling indulgent, she would let him help her around the kitchen. It always made him feel very grown-up when she let him peel the potatoes with the large, orange peeler, or wash the dishes. He was even allowed to cut vegetables under her supervision, which was quite a big deal, considering that in the Academy, he was only allowed to use wooden practice weapons.

His mother made the most beautiful bento for him every day, filled with onigiri shaped like animals, cucumbers cut out like stars, and the most delicately sweet and savory tamagoyaki that she decorated with delicate strips of seaweed. There was always something new and exciting to discover every time he opened his bento box, which was always delicious, and made his classmates green with envy.

He would come home from the Academy each day and excitedly tell his mother about his day at the kitchen table; and then after, his father would come home, smelling of the sun and the forest, and they would sit around the table together, and eat dinner.

It was not a life of luxury, and they lived within their means, but Iruka was happy.

Standing before this house now, it’s hard to believe that this really is where he’s to live for the next six months.

Iruka’s never lived anywhere like this before.

Until the morning he woke up in that hotel room with Kakashi, he’d never even experienced anything remotely luxurious. His salary as an Academy teacher has only ever allowed him to live modestly, and he’s never considered any other life.

When he was much younger, he remembers staring up at houses much like the one he finds himself standing in front of now, and wondered what kind of people lived in houses like that — houses that seemed almost like castles, with how tall and wide they were. So many windows, so many rooms.

He couldn’t imagine filling up so much space, or why anyone would need that much to begin with.

The house he had selected for them to live in is far larger than what the pictures had made it out to seem. It’s certainly befitting a man of Kakashi’s station, a residence worthy of a Hokage.

Iruka stands before it, with his mouth hanging ajar, gaping through the fence at the elegantly manicured front yard and the stone walkway leading up to the house.

He’s never felt more awkward and more aware of himself — and the scarcity of his belongings that fit completely in the boxes by his feet — than he does right now.

Iruka should feel happy about being able to live somewhere this beautiful. This is the kind of housing anyone would dream of being able to afford.

But all he feels is how out of place he really is, how much he doesn’t belong here.

What he wouldn’t give to pack all his belongings up once more and march them right back to the bachelor wards and into the comfort and safety of his small, one-bedroom apartment, with a kitchen that was too small for more than one person to comfortably move around in, and a shower that rattled loudly before the hot water went on.

It wasn’t large, and it was inelegant and rough around the edges, but it was all his.

 

*

 

When Iruka eventually works up the courage to actually unlock the front door, he isn’t surprised to discover that the house is dark, and Kakashi’s shoes aren’t in the genkan.

It’s the emptiness of it all that hits him — the way his footsteps echo as he drags his belongings in past the doorway and deposits them in the hallway. The loudness of his steps, in a space that feels far too big.

The pictures didn’t do any justice for this house — it’s far nicer than Iruka had expected.

He spends some time walking through it, discovering that the kitchen is quite possibly the most beautiful kitchen he’s ever stepped foot in. There’s a large kitchen island that opens out to the spacious living room, where, just beyond, is the study. He can see the tastefully manicured garden through the wall of windows that face east. The cabinets are tasteful and sleek, the stove range easily twice the size of the one he had in his old apartment.

It’s all a little overwhelming, as he stands there, looking around at the enormity of this place.

And it’s just the first floor.

He eventually makes his way up the stairs.

The master bedroom is impossible to miss — it sits at the far end of the hall with its door ajar. Iruka doesn’t go anywhere near it. Instead, he makes a beeline in the other direction, and commandeers the farthest room at the opposite end of the hall. He drags in his four boxes of belongings and lines them up neatly alongside one wall, then rolls out a mat and pillow, right under the window.

Later that night, as he stares at the ceiling and listens to the silence of the house, with only the hum of the crickets in the garden and the distant sound of late summer winds blowing through the trees, the hollowness in his chest expands as wide as the empty spaces of the house that he will never call home. Beauty can only hold so much meaning when its insides are so hollow. A house like this deserves to be filled with noise, the pitter patter of little feet, laughter and the whispered sounds of _welcome home_ or _be careful on your way_. Things that Iruka doesn't have, and likely never will. Iruka does a house like this a disservice by resolutely deciding to keep himself confined, away from his supposed husband. He will make himself as invisible as possible —  it feels disrespectful.

Iruka had resigned himself to not finding love, to safeguarding a broken heart that had been trampled on in the past, when the closest thing he had to true love, family, and a true friend, gifted him with an embedded shuriken between his shoulder blades, barely missing his spine. He didn’t think he'd ever be able to fall in love again after that —  always careful, always measured, resigning himself to his duty for his village and finding reward in watching the children graduate and become great shinobi. Because children — even those who turn their backs on the village in search for vengeance and power — are safe. They wouldn't go for the softest parts hidden under the uniform.

And Iruka may not be the happiest, but he is content, and has a clean conscience. And in the small space of his apartment that had become the home he'd grown to become very attached to, it was easy to forget how empty his life really was beyond the lines of duty and work and social circles that he partook in but maintained a safe and guarded distance.

No amount of lovers he brings back home for the night or even the weekend, if he's feeling a little frisky to scratch an itch he can't reach, will ever fill the void he has made peace with. It isn't so much the feeling of completeness that Iruka craves for, but the feeling of just not being as empty.

Iruka scoffs at the tornado sweeping through his mind. He has no one to blame but himself. His colleagues have been mercilessly teasing him on and off to settle down, to find a nice girl and have children or find a nice partner and build himself a home. And while he respects the sanctity of marriage, while the smallest spark in him still hopes that maybe one day, he can step into the genkan and say _I'm home_ and hear a response, or feel his lips form the syllables of _welcome home_ roll past his tongue, this certainly isn't the way he had imagined it.

Kakashi may be an attractive man; he may even be someone Iruka would have liked to entertain to scratch said itch with, had they moved in similar circles or frequented the same bars on the weekend.

But Kakashi is certainly not the partner Iruka had wanted to build a home with — and never will be. Iruka doesn't have lofty aspirations to imagine a real life with him. It would be incredibly naive of him to hope for something more, and Iruka knows not to be naive.

Bitterness coats his tongue and Iruka turns himself around to face the wall, throwing an arm over his head as he forces his eyelids shut to try to get some sleep, when he is already so emotionally drained and displaced as it is, helpless and feeling so much like a bird trapped within a beautiful cage, carrying a name he most certainly does not want.

Hatake Iruka.

Something cracks deep within him as he dares think it aloud, the syllables rolling past his lips feeling foreign and almost like an insult.  It leaves a horrible taste at the back of his throat, makes him flinch as he presses his arm further against the side of his head.

He hopes, with everything he had in him, that people will continue to address him as Umino. He isn't quite ready to part with his family name and the memories of his home and what little faded and distant happiness he still remembers, when it's one of the few things he had left of his family, the rest of it lost to ash or rubble too high in the village's destruction during the war. He isn’t quite sure what he’d do, or how he’d react, if someone dares to address him as Hatake-sensei or Hatake-san; the thought alone is enough to make his throat constrict and whimper in absolute frustration and anger. He _hates_ this —  it isn’t his fucking name!

Six months, he tells himself and exhales slowly, the sound of it far too loud in the goddamn stillness of a house he's starting to really dislike, despite its beauty. Six months should go fast if he keeps himself busy.

Tomorrow, Iruka thinks, he will shift his schedule to try to keep himself as busy as possible. The days tend to fly faster when one is very occupied, after all.

 

*

 

It happens the very next day after he had moved in, in the middle of the busiest hour at the mission room with the sun beginning set. The room had been bustling with teams and individuals coming in to submit their reports.

"Looks like you'll be here awhile, ne, Hatake-san?" Toshirou, a jounin, smiles as he hands over his mission report, jovial and warm as he always is when he greets the mission desk staff every time he comes in.

The vicious anger that slams into Iruka is visceral and as sharp as shattered broken glass. It scrapes against the inside of his chest, slow and deep cutting, knocks the breath out of his lungs only to be caught in his throat as if there are fingers wrapped around them to silence him, refusing the words he wants to yell out, to tell this man and anyone else who dares address him by a name that he does not want, _Hatake is not my name, I am not of that line!_ The words churn into a vicious storm, so savage in its rage that it churns through Iruka’s chakra. It is so sudden, that he watches, through the lock of his jaw and the grinding of his teeth, how Toshirou takes a step back, and eyes in the room turning in his direction.

Iruka wants to scream.

He wants to claw the rage out of his throat and give voice to the frustration that he's been swallowing since he had woken up to this horrible nightmare.

And like a rubber band snapping back after being stretched too far, Iruka forces a smile as he reaches out and unfurls the mission report.

"Please, Toshirou-san, I prefer to be addressed by my given name." He corrects and stamps the report before rolling it and dropping it into the bin beside him to be archived later. "Thank you for your hard work~”

"Ah, of course. Well, then, good night Iruka-san," Toshirou offers, jovial once more, like he had not been at the brunt of Iruka's suppressed rage just moments ago.

It hurts more than it should, when it shouldn't.

It shouldn't even bother him considering the fact that he is armed with the knowledge that within six months, everything will go back to the way it should be and that he only has to put up with overzealous shinobi who get too excited about village gossip for a short while. After all, the great Sharingan Kakashi is tied down to an overly polite chuunin school teacher —  Iruka doesn't blame them for addressing him by his “proper,” legal name. It is also probably out of respect to Kakashi himself, who is soon to be inaugurated as the Rokudaime Hokage.

It’s not their fault, Iruka tells himself.

The thought brings little to no comfort.

When some of his students’ parents come in later that evening, just a little before his shift ends, and addresses him as Hatake-sensei, it's all Iruka can do to not get up and leave the room. He sits there, smile frozen on his face, wordless and mute as the congratulatory greetings wash over his head and they depart with happy, excited smiles.

Anger rises like a tidal wave, as high as the mountains, fervid and mute and forcibly held prisoner by a body that wants nothing more than to explode and scream, to cave under the realization of just how much of a prisoner he is to Kakashi’s name, title, and reputation. He is powerless to say anything disrespectful to his superior and he can’t exactly fight it. And it doesn’t subside, but continues to boil under his skin, making his eyes water and his throat choke up, like he’s being strangled, even when he takes the longest route to walk back home — no, back to his new _quarters_.

Because this house is not his home.

And it will never be.

  
*

 

When Kakashi was five years old, he lost the only true home he’d ever known.

Home was once filled with his father’s laughter, and the weight of his father’s hand on his head. It was a quiet place, so unlike the houses of other shinobi they’d visited together, which were always filled with the bright sounds of children’s laughter and the running of little feet. He never did quite understand the meaning of the loudness, or why it was necessary.

The house they lived in was a spacious split-level home on the outskirts of Konoha. It was surrounded by a low fence, and acres of land where his father’s dogs ran wild and free. There was a rice paddy outside that caught the sunset in its waters when the tender shoots grew low, and plenty of trees that afforded privacy and a shade to sleep under during hot summer days.

It was where he had taken his first steps, where he learned to throw shuriken, and practiced jutsu every day. He learned how to control his chakra by climbing up those trees, with his father’s eyes on him everywhere he went. And though he was only three, and fell quite often, and cut and bruised his tiny knees, he picked himself up and kept trying, until one day, he found himself on the tallest branch, and stared down at the ground, which felt very far away. His father looked up at him with astonishment in his eyes and a smile on his face, and afterwards, the hand in his hair had made Kakashi’s small chest feel like it would burst.

He made Kakashi’s favorite meal for him, and told him how very proud he was.

Home was a place where his father’s smile always shone brightest. But one day, that smile disappeared behind the clouds in his father’s eyes that he brought home after a mission, and Kakashi didn’t understand the meaning of it. The house was no longer a quiet place, but silent with a brewing heaviness that felt like the weight of the air before a great storm.

He used to be afraid of the sound of thunder, and the lightning that flicked bright and blue and white across the night sky. Cut it open wide, like a god was up there yawning and showing his teeth.

Kakashi didn't understand why there were clouds in his father’s eyes for so many days when outside it wasn't raining. He looked at the clouds and didn't know what his father had hidden inside of them. He thought maybe there was thunder there, and lightning too. His father's chakra was white and he made lightning with his hands sometimes, and Kakashi had seen it, and what it could do. He wanted to make lightning with his hands, too, but he was still too small and his hands wouldn't make the lightning come.

One night, the lightning came in the middle of the night — loud and bright and clear like the cutting edge of a blade when it goes through a man's throat. Kakashi felt it where he was lying in bed and got up to find where it came from.

(Maybe his father had brought the rain, which was why he has clouds for eyes.)

He lost his home that night, when the god in the sky yawned wide and showed all his jagged teeth, and all Kakashi could do was kneel in a pool of his father’s blood, and with hands that did not shake, try to put his father’s guts back in.

(They never could get the blood out of the wood grain, and Kakashi never forgot the feeling of his father’s slippery guts in his tiny hands, and the scent of death that followed him all the years after.)

After that, home was never quite the same.

It was no longer where he really wanted to be.

But Kakashi didn’t have anywhere else to go, and home was the only place where he could return to each day, after carrying around the weight of the absence that filled up the house that was far too large for a small boy like himself to live in alone. It pressed down on him in layers, and sometimes Kakashi didn’t know how he could keep his head up and open his mouth to respond when Gai or Obito or Rin talked to him in class.

It was where he first learned what it felt like — the weight of his mask.

How he could barely even breathe through it during the day.

How home became the only place where he could take it all off and drag in something that was a semblance of a breath, as he sat in a tub that was far too large, and stared at his hands that couldn’t stop his father from growing into the ground.

Kakashi never had a real home after that. He had a place he would go to that he called a home, where he could peel away the layers of himself, until he was bare. And though the one bedroom apartment in the bachelor ward wasn’t a place he had any real sentimental attachment to, he knew every inch of that place, and all of its small idiosyncrasies — could navigate it with his eyes closed, half-conscious, bleeding out half his life onto a floor that would never tell his secrets. The walls of the apartment had silently watched him through the years — and never judged him for the ugly things he shared — the parts of him too broken, too damaged, for just anyone to witness.

He was exceedingly careful, selective, about who he let in to see those parts of himself, and Iruka certainly isn’t anywhere on that list.

So this place — this house — can never be home for him.

But then, Kakashi hasn’t had a real home since he was five.

The only difference is, he now doesn’t have a place where he can go to and take off the parts of himself that he hides from the rest of the world.

 

*

 

Kakashi doesn’t move into the house until mid-morning of the second day, when Iruka isn’t home.

He walks through the house with Tenzou, whom he’d employed to help with the move, making a cursory note of the floor plan and windows, and all the points of entry and egress. This building is far less defensible than his old apartment — too many ways to enter, too many traps he’ll have to set. Though the high fence and the privacy afforded by the forest just beyond, and the tall trees that surround them offer a modicum of satisfaction, Kakashi would have much rather not found himself having to ward window after window, leaving only the front doorway untouched for the time being.

It certainly wouldn’t do to have their front door kill his brand new husband on their first day of cohabitation, no matter how much Kakashi wishes he could escape from this prison of a marriage.

“Wow, Senpai, nice place,” Tenzou comments idly, as they stare out at the garden from the engawa.

Kakashi doesn’t respond, other than to glance around at the emptiness of the rooms they walked through, and then looks at Tenzou. “Feel like making your senpai some furniture, so he doesn’t have to sit on the floor?”

Tenzou’s face falls dramatically as he sighs. “First you make me carry all of your stuff here. Now you’re making me make all of your furniture. What’s next? Are you going to tell me that the house needs to be remodeled, too?”

Kakashi actually pauses to consider this for a moment, and Tenzou’s eyes take on the quality of something quite dead. “Senpai. Don’t even think about it,” he says stiffly, before Kakashi can even get the words out.

“Ah, but it would make your poor senpai’s life so much easier, if his adorable kouhai would kindly remodel this house into two separate houses with two entrances,” Kakashi points out very glibly with two perfectly arched eyes, and Tenzou stares at him flatly.

“First of all, Senpai, there is nothing poor about you, other than how you always swindle your way out of paying for your drinks and every meal we ever have together,” Tenzou says, as he raises a finger in the air for emphasis, then raises another. “Second… This land is not zoned for a multi-family residence, and we will need to apply for a permit through the Housing Authority to have it re-zoned. There will then need to be a permit for that level of construction. As you well know, Senpai, I will not break the law just to make your life easier. You will just have to learn how to live with Iruka-sensei peacefully.”

Kakashi’s shoulders slump in defeat, as he sighs and stares out at the garden, at the dragonflies lazily flitting across the surface of the pond just beyond without a care in the world, oblivious to the storm clouds slowly gathering inside the house.

“How hard can it be?” Tenzou asks into the silence.

You’re not the one who has to live with him, Kakashi thinks.

He sets Tenzou to the task of furnishing the house, as he walks back into town to pick out a couch, since the one that came with his old apartment also was property of Konoha.

By late afternoon, the house is adequately furnished.

A sturdy dining table and chairs had been constructed for the kitchen, on top of which, Kakashi leaves a box with the word “Kitchen” written on the side, along with a small plant in a clay pot with _Ukki-san_ scrawled along the rim.

There’s an oversized cream-colored couch in the living room with plush cushions and a comfortable, wide chaise sectional, facing a television Kakashi had brought from his old apartment, sitting on top of a wide stand Tenzou had built, stocked with his prized collection of various romantic comedies and _Icha Icha_ live action movies. The coffee table set before it is of an elegant construction, and complements the dining table nicely.

In the downstairs study, Tenzou had built Kakashi a large desk that looks out onto the garden, and tall bookshelves for his _Icha Icha_ collection — as well as an entire hidden wall that slides open to reveal a weapons mounting system, where Kakashi can store all of his ninja tools.

There’s even a safe that Tenzou built behind one bookcase, for sensitive scrolls and the like, heavily warded and keyed to Kakashi’s chakra signature.

It seems endless.

This house Iruka chose is far too large.

Kakashi doesn’t know what to do with all this space.

Though Tenzou had made him a rather large bed and matching bedroom furniture, the master bedroom still feels far too big for him.

But maybe all this space is a good thing — it means that they won’t have to run into each other as much.

If they’re lucky, maybe they won’t have to see each other at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art at end of chapter by [Dri](http://drisrt.tumblr.com/), commissioned by [sub_textual](http://subtextually.tumblr.com). Thank you so much for your beautiful work!

Their first week living together is as tense as an incoming storm.

The clouds swirl dangerously around their ankles, chasing them to opposite ends of a house filled with a silence so thick, you’d need a knife to cut it.

Kakashi goes out of his way to avoid Iruka — entering the house through his bedroom window, so he doesn’t accidentally pass him in the hall. He listens for the sound of Iruka’s feet, to determine exactly where he is in the house any time Kakashi is home, and plans his excursions to the kitchen with the same precision as he would a mission.

The only time they had found themselves in the same space underneath this roof was the evening after Kakashi had moved in, when Kakashi had Iruka add his chakra signature to all the wards throughout the house.

Afterwards, Kakashi made himself quite scarce, never lingering in any of the shared spaces when he knew Iruka would be around.

He’s not sure if he can really call this living, when he spends every waking hour under the roof walking on a live wire waiting to snap.

 

*

 

If there is one thing Iruka always remembers his father telling him, it is to always be kind and always be brave. He remembers nights before he was tucked into bed, after his mother made room for his father to bid him good night, how he'd always take hold of Iruka's hands and tell him, these are the strongest tools you will ever have. You must always hold on tight to the things that matter to you; you must always be gentle and kind to those who mean something to you; and even when everyone tells you that you are a fool, when they tell you that you are hopeless, that your belief in fairy tales and hope is naive in their world of sharp blades, blood, honor, and glory; when they force you to be cruel and distant, calculating, and nothing but a faceless shadow, just one of many — you take these hands and cover your ears.

_You are the bravest when you are the kindest, especially to those the world fear the most._

Iruka remembered these words clearly the first night spent in a house that was nothing more than prison.

He remembered the look on Kakashi's face — dismissive, impassive, outrage fueled by inconvenience concealed behind a mask.

 _It's not like I wanted this,_ Iruka had wanted to yell at him.

But he remembered the words, the few of what little teachings his parents had instilled and passed down to him, and instead, he looked away. He said nothing when he moved into the house that would never be his. He said nothing when he received formal greetings and well wishes with a name that wasn't his. He said nothing when his rights as Hatake Kakashi's husband limited his options to privacy, to the choice of where he could reside, the right to the space he deserved to choose.

He said nothing even when he felt the presence of a man who might as well have been a ghost in a house that was too big, with pockets of empty spaces in between. He said nothing because _Kakashi_ said nothing, and that was okay. Six months was not a long time. Neither of them had wanted anything like this — certainly not Iruka. No matter how much Iruka respected the sanctity and meaning of marriage, this was not how he had wanted to get it.

Not like this.

 _Never_ like this.

So Iruka kept his mouth shut, became a ghost and made himself invisible, so that Kakashi didn't have to see him, and Iruka didn't have to see Kakashi, because being separate meant they were both still in control of the situation.

(Because if he opened his mouth, he would scream.)

_Being silent is brave too, isn't it?_

 

*

 

  
It goes on like that for a week and a half.

But during the middle of the night, on a particularly hot Wednesday evening, Kakashi discovers that Iruka had been sleeping on the floor this entire time.

Kakashi had emerged from his room long after he heard Iruka settle down for the night, with the intention of getting a late-night snack, only to discover that Iruka had apparently fallen asleep with his door ajar.

He hadn’t meant to look — only to close his door for him — but it’s impossible to not notice the way moonlight floods the room through the window, glancing off all the surfaces, bathing it all in a soft, milky white light. And right there, under the window, is Iruka — asleep on a bedroll on the floor.

Kakashi stares for a long moment in confusion.

And that’s when the realization hits.

As an Academy teacher, Iruka probably can’t afford to buy a bed that he would only be able to sleep on for six months. He most likely intends to go on sleeping on the floor, on a ratty bedroll, for the remainder of their time living together.

Six months is a long time to go without a bed.

And there’s something wrong about the idea that Iruka might live in a house like this, but is forced to spend his nights on the floor.

Naruto would never forgive Kakashi for it, if he ever found out.

Kakashi closes the door quietly, and sends for Tenzou the very next day.

 

 

*

 

Kakashi strikes the first blow in the dark wall that stands between them, and through its cracks, Iruka catches the sight of something a little brighter beyond.

To say that Iruka is shocked is an understatement, when he comes home late one evening, drained to his very core and spread a little too thin, to find his bedroom door wide open.

Irritation rises like bile, and tension coils in his spine, radiating all the way down his arms as Iruka balls his fingers into fists.

The little space of his room is the only place he could have to himself, and yet here it is, wide open and disturbed. Iruka knows no one else would have dared to break into this house, and if Kakashi had guests, then he should have granted Iruka the same courtesy as Iruka had granted him — _stay out of his fucking way._

But then Iruka flicks the light on, and it hits him like a punch to the gut.

Anger drops out from under his feet, like the ground had suddenly disappeared from under him.

His breath hitches a little too loudly, cutting through the quiet of the night.

Iruka stands there and stares.

The room had been bare when he left it, with just a stack of boxes along one wall, and his bedroll spread out under the window. But now, there’s a double door armoire at the far end of the room, and an elegant dresser, atop which his boxes had been carefully placed.  

The room is centered by a bed that looks a little too big for just one person to lie in, bookended by two matching nightstands. His bedroll, fleece blanket, and pillow had been neatly placed on the tastefully sleek bed — something Iruka’s seen in magazines, the kind that is always decorated with colorful throw pillows, matching paint and wallpaper, and delicate chiffon curtains.

He takes a step back until he's out in the hallway, his overstuffed satchel dropping audibly to the ground as he stares into his bedroom slack jawed. A quick glance down the hallway reveals that Kakashi's bedroom door is still firmly shut, and his presence is nowhere near the house. And that’s when he notices the door to the room next to his is also wide open. When he turns the light on, he sees it's also been furnished and turned into a study.

There’s a desk — far larger than any Iruka has ever owned — that sits just under the window, with plenty of drawers. A comfortable-looking chair, carved out of wood, is tucked under the desk. Iruka’s eyes sweep across the room, to the far wall lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and then down to the lower shelves and cabinets, where he will be able to neatly file all of his students’ papers and tests.  

Iruka suddenly realizes that he will no longer have to sit hunched over grading on the floor in his bedroom, or bent over the kitchen table during the wee hours of the morning, when he knows he won't run into Kakashi. He can shut the door in this study and make use of the privacy, and not have to stay late at the Academy or at the mission room to get his work done. The ache in his back and shoulder that had been steadily growing can ease off, too.

It's beautiful.

Iruka had imagined possibly owning something like this when he retired, but to have it so soon leaves him feeling speechless with a warmth curling in his chest that he doesn't quite know what to do with. He finds himself huffing an amused smile, shaking his head, as he shuts off the light to his study and closes the door, picking up the mess of spilled papers on the floor and retreating to his room.

Kakashi didn't have to get him anything, didn't have to accommodate him and ensure his comfort. It's thoughtful and kind — maybe even a little sweet of him to go a little too far as providing him with not only an entire bedroom full of furniture, but also a study.

Iruka finds a faint smile growing on his face, despite still feeling incredibly embarrassed and out of place in such a luxurious house.

He takes out his pen and neatly writes his gratitude on a sticky note, attaching it to Kakashi's door.

**Thank you (^_^)**

****

 Kindness is always to be repaid in equal amounts, if not more.

The next morning, Iruka decides to extend his gratitude when he makes tamagoyaki, steamed rice, and a pot of miso soup. He had noticed the lack of food in the kitchen — how bare it was; Kakashi seemed to subsist on take-out, conbini food, and strangely enough, ration bars and protein shakes — things that would be good for the field, or when he needed to travel light, but certainly not when he comes back to a place that should be home. Iruka doesn't think twice when he triples the portion of his lunch, and carefully stacks the neatly prepared bento boxes in the fridge.

The plate of tamagoyaki sits on the counter, right next to the coffee machine where Iruka had placed Kakashi's empty mug for when he wakes up later, and he writes him a sticky note, which says:

**Made extra. Lunch is also in the fridge. Please help yourself.**

Iruka knows it isn't much, but he hopes that Kakashi will accept this small olive branch.

 

*

 

When Iruka returns home that night, the plate of tamagoyaki he’d left behind and the servings of rice and miso soup are conspicuously missing, and all of the dishes had been washed and put away. The refrigerator is one bento box short, and there is a note waiting for him on his desk.

It simply reads:

**Thanks. It was delicious.**

 

****

 

Amusement curls in his chest like smoke, slow and lazy, as Iruka shakes his head and puts the note aside. He had not expected Kakashi to thank him. Iruka finds himself preparing another plate for him in the morning, and the morning after that, until it becomes a habit.

The habit only breaks one evening when Iruka makes dinner and prepares a slightly larger serving for Kakashi. It’s nothing special — just some grilled salted saury, rice, and miso soup that he’d thrown some eggplant into, as well as a side of nasu dengaku that he made with the remaining eggplant and miso glaze. This time, he leaves the note on Kakashi's door — Kakashi has quite a strange habit of skipping the front door, coming into the house through his bedroom window instead.

**Dinner in the kitchen. Please help yourself.**

Iruka had expected another cursory, “Thank you, it was delicious,” note, which Kakashi always took the time to write him after every shared meal. But what he did not expect was this:

 **You made my favorite. It was** **_very_ ** **delicious.**

 

****

There’s even a henohenomoheji drawn in the corner this time, along with a brand new tin of Iruka’s favorite tea — which he didn’t even think Kakashi would have noticed, given that they haven’t been in the same room at the same time since Kakashi had him key his chakra signature to the wards throughout the house.

Iruka can’t stop the smile that blossoms across the face, or the warmth that spreads across his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Dinner too, becomes a habit.  


*

 

Living with Iruka is unlike anything Kakashi could have predicted.

He had originally thought that he would struggle with privacy —  that everywhere he turned, Iruka would somehow be in his space, invading it with his presence. But somehow, that wasn’t how things went at all.

The only interactions they seem to have are the extra servings of meals Iruka makes and the notes Kakashi leaves him to thank him for the effort. It’s the least he can do, if Iruka is going to go out of his way to at least try and make their living situation somewhat tolerable.

While Kakashi certainly can cook, he usually is too lazy to bother, when he can just pick up a meal from a conbini or stop by a restaurant. Cooking requires effort that Kakashi doesn’t really necessarily want to put in, so this arrangement has been working out far better than what Kakashi had initially feared.

It certainly helps that Iruka is a surprisingly good cook.

Somehow, Kakashi had thought that by now — nearly a month since they moved in, he would’ve run into Iruka at some point.

But their schedules are always so different that they seem to be in the common spaces at different times of the day. In fact, Kakashi hadn’t even seen Iruka since the night he walked past his bedroom and caught him sleeping on the floor — until he walks downstairs one morning and discovers Iruka sound asleep at the kitchen island.

He stares for a moment, eyebrows raised, eyes flowing over Iruka, whose fingers are loosely wrapped around a mug of coffee, cheek pressed against his outstretched arm. He’s dressed in a tank top and a pair of soft pants, loose strands of hair tousled around his face.  

Of all the ways Kakashi could have predicted running into Iruka, this certainly wasn’t what he had imagined.

For a moment, he considers if maybe he should let Iruka sleep and simply toss a blanket over his shoulders. But then, he realizes that he’s probably going to just wake Iruka up anyway, since he had intended to make some coffee, and coffee grinders aren’t exactly very quiet. So, he opts to reach over and give Iruka’s shoulder a slight shake.

“Iruka-sensei, wake up.” 

Iruka stirs softly, a throaty noise of protest spilling from his lips as he stares up at Kakashi sleepily through lowered lashes for a few seconds. But then, it seems that he suddenly registers who he’s staring at, and jerks hard, springing upright with a sudden whiplash of motion. The coffee ends up spilling all over the counter and splashing non-ceremoniously over Kakashi's front.

Shock snaps the sleep and exhaustion off Iruka's face as he stares at Kakashi in horror, and his cheeks burn into a dark, vivid red.

He looks like he’s forgotten how to speak.

He also looks a little ashamed.

“Well,” Kakashi says after a beat of standing there in silence, blinking in mild surprise at the fact that he’d just been doused with a rather sizable amount of cold coffee, “I suppose that’s one way to get my morning coffee.” The deadpanned quip is followed by a soft snort of amusement as he slides around the kitchen island and grabs some paper towels to pat at the material of his sleeveless black singlet that he usually wears to bed.

"I am so, so, sorry," Iruka says quickly and is on his feet to clean up the spilled coffee on the counter, wiping it down with a cleaning rag. "I didn't realize — I apologize, Kakashi-san. I didn't mean to fall asleep." There is a slight tinge of hysteria in Iruka's voice at being caught like this and causing such a mess. "Let me make it up to you. I was just about to make breakfast when I — ah.”

Iruka sounds frustrated, as he straightens and moves to rinse the coffee soaked rag at the sink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kakashi says gently, as he tosses away the soiled paper towels, and then glances down at his shirt. His eyes track back to Iruka, and he takes in the purpled crescents under his eyes and rumpled clothing. “Why don’t you go get some rest? You’re clearly tired.”

"I'm alright, Kakashi-san," Iruka murmurs as he turns the tap off and tosses Kakashi a brief look over his shoulder, along with a polite smile. "I have an early day and some work to catch up on at the Academy. Please go ahead and change, I'll start breakfast."

Kakashi watches as Iruka opens the cabinet where the coffee beans are stored, and turns to head upstairs. If Iruka insists on making breakfast, Kakashi certainly isn't going to turn him down.

Fifteen minutes and a fast shower later, Kakashi is fully dressed in his uniform, and heading back down the stairs with his flak jacket in hand. He can smell the fragrance of fresh coffee wafting up from the kitchen, mingled with the scents of Iruka's cooking.

He hangs the flak jacket over a chair at the kitchen table, and Iruka hands him a cup of coffee just as he sets down a bowl tray with servings of soup, tsukemono, and hiyashi tofu. “Rice will be ready in a few minutes,” Iruka says, turning his back to Kakashi to finish preparing the eggs.

Kakashi looks over the spread, coffee in hand, and idly wonders why it had taken them so long to sit down and have a meal together, when they'd been sharing meals apart for the past few weeks. “Looks good,” he says, as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, then reaches up and tugs his mask down under his chin, taking a long, leisurely sip of his coffee, humming with appreciation.

Iruka’s lips twitch in amusement as he plates the eggs, only to turn and freeze in his steps. He hadn’t expected to find himself staring at Kakashi’s bare face, and his eyes linger on the scar at the corner of Kakashi’s left lip. The morning they’d woken up together comes slamming back into him, with Kakashi lying on the bed, beautifully naked and sleepy, every inch of him so wonderfully exposed. Iruka watches, with barely registered wonder, at the way the scar twitches the slightest bit when Kakashi takes a sip of his coffee. There is something unguarded about Kakashi’s whole posture, how he sits there with ease, unconcerned that the stranger who is husband is openly staring at his bare face.

Iruka’s cheeks burn at the sight of seeing something so personal and well-guarded.

Embarrassment crawls down his throat, dusting his chest and shoulders, and when their eyes meet briefly, it feels like being burned. The heat deepens under his skin, as Iruka blinks away and recovers — he hope it looks smoother than he feels, and sets the plates down carefully, turning his back to take his time to scoop some rice into bowls.

“Do you need anything else?” Iruka tries to will his embarrassment to go away and the flush to subside. Glancing down at himself and the thin material of his tank top, he feels rather vulnerable and bare, so very aware of himself in that moment.

There is a long pause, followed by a loud sip of coffee, and an awkward clearing of Kakashi’s throat. “Ah— no, this is great, thanks.” The silence that falls after feels like there are words waiting to be spoken, words Kakashi turns over in his head. Iruka steals a glance at him again, and realizes that Kakashi is watching him, eyes intensely focused. It can't be for more than a heartbeat, but there's something in his eyes — a kind of curiosity, perhaps, like he's trying to figure Iruka out just by looking at him — that sends a hot pulse straight through Iruka.

Kakashi's eyes quickly snap off him, and down to his cup, which he raises to his mouth for another sip.

Iruka says nothing more and joins him at the table with his own cup of coffee, setting down the serving rice. Iruka murmurs a soft _itadakimasu_ and keeps his gaze on his food. It goes on like that, until halfway through his meal, Iruka says, “Thank you for the furniture. You weren’t obligated to. But I deeply appreciate it.” A beat passes and Iruka feels his flush deepen, a small smile tugging at his lips. It’s sincere enough that a dimple hollows. “And the tea.”

Kakashi looks up from his bowl of rice, and washes down his mouthful of food with a sip of coffee. Iruka watches as his mouth curls into something soft and lopsided, the scarred corner curving up a little higher. It's so jarring to see Kakashi's face like this — uncovered, open, soft in the morning light. Iruka remembers that there had been something quite guarded about him the morning they woke up together. Maybe it's the way the sunlight hits him, but in this moment, he seems almost — comfortable, Iruka realizes, with a slow blink.

“Maa,” Kakashi says lightly, “I can't take all the credit. Let's just say… I took advantage of a certain kouhai, hmm?”

Iruka’s huffs an amused laugh before picking up his mug. “All the same. I am grateful.”

It’s not unpleasant, Iruka realizes, to share a meal with Kakashi like this.

If anything, it’s surprisingly enjoyable.

 

*

 

One meal turns into two, and soon they fall into the habit of having breakfast together.

Most mornings, Iruka pulls the meals together — he usually wakes up before Kakashi. But there is one morning when he walks downstairs, and finds miso soup simmering on the stove, a pot of his favorite tea on the counter, rice steaming in the cooker.

The sun has barely started to rise — a mere glimmer on the dark horizon.

Kakashi stands at the stove in his sleeveless black singlet and drawstring pants, a dish towel tossed over his shoulder, as he expertly tosses the contents in the pan with a practiced flick of his wrist.

Iruka can’t help but stare — and that’s when Pakkun suddenly emerges from behind the kitchen island and trots right up to him, then lifts a paw in greeting.

“Yo,” the pug says. “Long time no see.”

Iruka makes a surprised sound, prompting Kakashi to glance over his shoulder.

His mask is up, like it always is when he isn’t eating or drinking, but Iruka can make out the faint shadows of his mouth, curving with a soft half-smile. “Morning,” Kakashi says, flipping the contents of the pan again. “Breakfast will be ready in a bit. I hope you don’t mind that I summoned my ninken.”

And sure enough, Iruka suddenly realizes that there are _eight_ additional chakra signatures. He glances to the living room from his spot in the kitchen, and sees dogs, large and small, sprawled over the couch and on the floor. A particularly giant bulldog — which Iruka swears is probably as large as a small horse — takes up the entire space between the television and the coffee table.

They all look at him curiously, and then one of them — a small, tan one with dark rings around his eyes — hops off the couch and trots over to him, sniffing at his ankle. It apparently prompts the _rest_ of the pack — save for the giant one, thank goodness — to come investigate. And before Iruka knows it, he’s surrounded by seven dogs, all learning his scent.

Pakkun introduces each one of them. “That’s Bisuke, you gotta be real careful ‘bout him. He looks real innocent, but he’s a sneaky one, always stealin’ all my treats.”

Bisuke just gives Pakkun a serene look, but there’s something playful in his eyes.

“And that’s Akino—”

It goes on like this for some time, with Pakkun idly commenting on each member of his pack, as Iruka tries to remember all of their names and file away the bits of information Pakkun has to offer about his fellow ninken. Akino’s the most fashionable one; Uhei steals all of Pakkun’s squeaky toys; Urushi will chew on Iruka’s shoes if Iruka makes him mad, so he better be careful not to step on his paws or tail. Shiba won’t play fetch with anyone but Kakashi, and doesn’t even really like playing fetch unless Kakashi bribes him with plenty of treats — it’s like he isn’t even a proper dog, Pakkun complains with a haughty huff. And as for Guruko — he’s the laziest one. Doesn’t even act like a dog sometimes, with how he just lies there in the sun and refuses to get up when he’s called. As for Bull, the giant summon in the living room — he doesn’t talk much, but he’s a nice guy.

Pakkun ends his lengthy monologue with, “They ain’t so bad, but I’m the handsomest of ‘em all, so that makes me their boss.”

“You’re not my boss,” Guruko complains. “Kakashi’s the boss.”

Pakkun just gives him a sullen look. “Oi! I’m in charge when Kakashi’s not around!”

Iruka laughs, sudden and unable to quite suppress his amusement as he drops to a crouch, reaching out to gently give Pakkun a gentle scritch under his ears. “It’s nice to meet all of you. Pakkun, it’s been a while. You look well. Handsome as ever.”

Pakkun’s eyes squint in bliss, and when Iruka turns to look at the rest of the pack, he is greeted with expectant eyes and excitedly wagging tails. He offers all of them scritches, one by one, gentle and careful and not wanting to overstep his boundaries, if any. He gets dog kisses and equally enthusiastic reactions, and before he knows it, he’s surrounded by a pack of dogs that do not behave anything like deadly summons, but like happy children getting the attention they've always wanted.

Iruka forgets, in the space of a few minutes, that he is in a house he doesn’t consider a home, that the man who is supposed to be his husband is but a few feet away. For a brief moment, Iruka remembers his family, and that one time he had brought a pair of puppies home because he had found them in the rain. His parents let him keep them for the night, and the next morning, had walked him to the Inuzuka kennel to ensure they would have a good home.

It had been a happy, blissful day, however short. Iruka remembers the feeling of soft fur and warm, soggy kisses against his palm and arm and cheek — it catches him off guard, how at home he suddenly feels. How the house that has always been so quiet is now filled with the pitter patter of excited, shuffling paws. Iruka picks up Bisuke, the most expressive of them all, and straightens to stand, carrying him in his arm and gently rubbing his belly.

“Is it alright if I take them outside?” Iruka asks, keeping his gaze on the wonderfully affectionate summon in his arm.

“Hmm?” Kakashi pauses and glances over his shoulder, as he plates what appears to be kinpara renkon — slices of lotus root stir fried with strips of carrot. His eyes wash over Iruka, and then drop down to the pack, who looks at him expectantly, with wagging tails and lolling tongues. “Sure. They could use a bit of fresh air.”

Iruka makes a soft encouraging noise, and crosses the space between the kitchen to slide open the door to the back yard. The moment the door opens fully, the pack rushes out — along with Bull, who lumbers on past him — and Iruka follows them, carefully setting Bisuke down to join the rest of them in running across the open yard, sniffing at the bushes and circling around the sycamore tree.

It’s almost picturesque, watching them play and chase each other. Pakkun trots back up to him after a few minutes and Iruka doesn’t think twice before picking him up and cradling him in his arm, running his fingers over his belly in gentle, comfortable circles that leaves Pakkun panting with happiness, eyes closed and nuzzling against the crook of his arm. As dawn begins to rise and the sun slowly starts to peek out of the horizon, Iruka stands there, momentarily content, as he watches the sky grow lighter, and listens to happy barks echoing across the yard.

It’s nice, he thinks, waking up to this.

“Next time all of you around, I’ll make sure to have treats.” Iruka gives Pakkun a gentle rub between his eyes with his thumb for emphasis.

They’re joined by Kakashi a moment later, who had pulled his jounin shirt on, and holds a cup of steaming black coffee in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other. He glances down at Pakkun in Iruka’s arms. “I was going to give you this,” he lifts the cup of tea slightly, in Iruka’s direction, “but it seems your hands are otherwise occupied.” It comes out a bit dry, but Iruka can hear the hint of a smile in his tone. “Breakfast is ready, by the way.”

“In a moment,” Iruka says with a content sigh, as he sets Pakkun down and gives one final scritch behind the ear before he straightens and takes his cup of tea from Kakashi. “The sun is about to rise.”

He turns his gaze to the horizon, taking a slow sip of his tea, a quiet, gentle smile curving his lips.

Kakashi’s gaze washes over him slowly, as he sips on his coffee.

In the pale light of dawn, there is something serene and soft about Iruka that Kakashi hadn’t noticed before — but then, he’s never seen Iruka quite like this. There had always been something guarded about the set of his shoulders and his polite smiles, like he wasn’t completely comfortable in his own skin, when he was around Kakashi. Though they ate breakfast together most days, and Iruka smiled at him whenever their eyes met, it was always muted, like the sun hiding behind a veil of clouds in the sky.

He could always make out the shape of it, but couldn’t gauge its brightness, or its warmth.

Kakashi’s eyes flick out to the horizon, and he watches as the sun breaks over the treeline —  gold washing through the tops of the trees and gently waving leaves, catching dust motes lazily floating in the early air.  

“Must be nice,” Iruka says softly, amusement glimmering in his eyes as he watches Bisuke chase after Akino, “having them around. They’re quite charming. Were they all like this when they were younger?”

“Mm...” Kakashi hums and takes a sip from his mug, as Bisuke catches up with Akino, and they tumble across the grass. Pakkun runs out to join in on the fun. “They were a little rowdier than they are now.” He pauses briefly. “Pakkun was much cuter, though. Not nearly as grumpy.” His expression softens as he watches the pug catch up with his fellow ninken. “You know, he was able to say my name when he was only four months old. It was the first thing that came out of his mouth.”

Iruka laughs, and shakes his head, turning his full attention to Kakashi and away from the brightening horizon. “It’s quite lovely, having them around. They’re wonderful, Kakashi-san. You are a lucky man.”

 _I don’t know if I’d call myself lucky,_ Kakashi almost says, but the words die on the tip of his tongue when his eyes sweep over Iruka, and his breath catches in his throat.

There’s a smile on Iruka’s face — warm and open and completely unguarded. Brighter than any sunrise. And as the morning sun washes over Iruka’s face, catching flecks of gold in his brown eyes, Kakashi suddenly realizes that Iruka has _dimples_ — he’d never actually noticed them before. Not like this, anyway.

But then, Iruka’s never smiled at him like this before.

He’s beautiful, Kakashi thinks before he can stop himself.

He tears his eyes away, suddenly far too aware of the warmth by his side, and the heat curling in his chest, in favor of looking down at his coffee, and finishes the last of what’s in his cup to swallow down the feeling.

All Iruka gets in response is a rather noncommittal hum that can mean anything, and then Kakashi turns. “Come on,” he says to Iruka as he heads inside. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

Iruka follows him in wordlessly, wondering if perhaps he had something on his face. The warmth of his sudden embarrassment lingers on his cheeks, refusing to subside even after he’s washed his hands and joined Kakashi at the table. For a brief moment, Iruka wonders if perhaps he had said something Kakashi may not have liked.

His thoughts come to a halt when he takes his first bite, humming appreciatively. The lotus root is perfectly prepared — though a little more savory than the way Iruka might have prepared it. The soup is just as good — just the way Iruka enjoys it, with silken tofu, chunks of eggplant, and thick seaweed floating in the broth. It’s garnished with fresh green onion. “Thank you for making breakfast, Kakashi-san. It’s quite delicious.”

He offers a smile in Kakashi's direction and hopes that he sounds sincere enough in his praise. Kakashi, after all, didn’t have to go through the trouble.

“Maa,” Kakashi says, and there’s something soft and sheepish about his smile that makes Iruka stare a little, unable to turn his gaze away.  

It’s almost shy, the way Kakashi looks down at his bowl, and awkwardly rubs at the nape of his neck with a hand, like he hadn’t actually expected the praise. “It’s not much, but it’s the least I can do.” Kakashi pauses to take a sip of his soup. “I would share more cooking responsibilities, but… your cooking is much better than mine.”

“You are too kind,” Iruka says, embarrassment thick in the syllables and in the flush dark on his cheeks. “I don’t mind preparing meals. It’s relaxing, sometimes. If there is something you specifically want and I can make it, please let me know. Or if there are things you don’t like…”

“I don’t like sweet things,” Kakashi admits. “And I don’t particularly like foods that are fried, or too greasy, or heavily spiced… I have a—” he pauses, considering his words, “sensitive palate, I suppose you can say. It comes with my sense of smell.”

Iruka had heard it before from Naruto — Kakashi’s sense of smell is apparently as strong as an Inuzuka’s. It isn’t surprising that he has an equally strong sense of taste that accompanies it.

“I’ll remember that,” Iruka promises and takes a sip of tea. “I also don’t mind if you have your summons around more often. It breaks the quiet of the house, makes it feel less empty. If you are worried about disturbing me at all, please don’t.”

Kakashi’s expression softens slightly, and a faint smile finds its way to his mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The next morning when Iruka wakes up, it’s to the pitter patter of paws, racing their way across the floor.

And when he goes downstairs, he finds eight dogs, happily eating breakfast out of eight matching bowls, and Kakashi, barely awake and drowsy, yawning as he pulls out the coffee beans from the cabinet.

He notices Iruka after a moment, and Iruka thinks there’s a smile forming under his mask.

“Morning,” Kakashi murmurs, his voice still hoarse and thick from sleep.

“Good morning, Kakashi-san!” Iruka replies.

The smile he gives him is wonderfully bright.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Falling Slowly (Cover) - Savannah Outen & Chester See ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXlSVw9RwAY)

Life becomes this:

A table set for two, and eight dogs that spend a little too much time trying to steal scraps from Iruka when he’s cooking. Sometimes, it’s just Bisuke and Pakkun, sitting on the floor while he puts together meals, staring up at him with large, imploring eyes, hoping to get a treat.

Other times, it’s an entire row of them, even Bull — staring at Iruka, every time he tries to cook.

Kakashi chases them away when he comes down, and there’s always quiet laughter filling up the spaces of a house that was once too large, when the world is still waking.

It doesn’t feel quite so empty, anymore.

And sunrise feels a little warmer, even as the air outside grows cooler, as the last days of summer fade away.

Though their schedules don’t always align for them to have dinner together, Iruka always makes enough for two — and wakes up in the mornings to find a note slid under his door, or tacked to the refrigerator, that usually is some variation of _thanks for dinner, it was delicious._

So it’s a bit surprising for Iruka to come home early one day, and hear the television playing in the background.

Kakashi is usually trapped in a council meeting around this time, or tearing up a training field. He’s never home this early.

Iruka only joins him in the living room when he has dinner assembled neatly on a tray, with two cups of tea, carefully setting it all down a little closer to Kakashi on the coffee table.

The sight of Kakashi makes him pause, fingers lingering over the rim of his tea cup. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kakashi looking quite like this — bundled up like a newborn infant in a shuriken print duvet that Iruka knows must have come from his bedroom. It’s a strange image, seeing one of the world’s deadliest ninja look rather innocent, when he certainly isn’t — not with well over a thousand kills under his belt and hands lined with far too many scars, whispers of wars fought in the shadows.

It’s kind of adorable, seeing Kakashi like this — with only his face and a tuft of silver hair poking out of the blanket visible.

Iruka tears his gaze away, looking at the television instead, and notices that it’s the new _Icha Icha_ live action series that everyone has been talking about. “You know, this is the fourth arc in the television series and I must say, the first one will always remain the best. Plot wise. Combining _Tactics_ with _Violence_ is not a good idea.”

Iruka picks up his tea cup from the tray and takes a sip from it.

It just so happens to be that Iruka picked a rather good time to talk, because the show cuts to a commercial break about some brand new kitchen appliance. Had he tried to speak while the show was still going on, he probably wouldn’t have gotten very far.

After all, it is of _utmost importance_ that Kakashi doesn’t miss a single syllable of the season premiere of his favorite show — one he had no idea Iruka also watched.

His eyes are strangely bright and gleaming as he turns his attention to Iruka. “Iruka-sensei! I didn’t know that you watched _Icha Icha!”_  The exclamation comes out a little too rushed and excited. “I thought I was the only purist who thought that they should have stuck to a more accurate adaptation, but apparently, because they already adapted the books for the movies, they wanted to go a different route.”

“I’ve read all the books.” Iruka makes a bit of a face. “The movies were alright, I’m a sucker for Yuki playing Junko. A favorite of mine, that one. But otherwise, I can’t say I’m a fan.” Iruka looks at Kakashi knowingly. “Well, not like yourself, Kakashi-san. I was quite pleased with the original cast, but after this particular adaptation, and the recast of Akira — I can’t. I had the biggest crush on Akira. Admittedly, he’s the reason I kept watching the series!” Iruka rubs the back of his head. “That’s part of the reason I’m not a big fan of _this_ . They just phased him out of completely! They should have just stuck to _Icha Icha Violence_ as it is instead of, well…” Iruka gestures at the television, that is now playing a shampoo commercial.

“I can’t possibly agree with you more, Iruka-sensei!” Kakashi can’t really help the breathless excitement in his voice, because it has been far too long since he’s had the chance to really talk to someone else who clearly is an expert in _Icha Icha_ and appreciates the masterpiece collection just like him.

He’s actually quite delighted to discover that Iruka is apparently a fan — and though Iruka doesn’t much like the current series, all of his criticism is rather on point. “Akira was one of my favorites too, and I was quite disappointed when they decided to phase him out for the sake of drama instead of an honest adaptation.” He sighs, shaking his head a bit. “I imagine if Jiraiya-sama were still with us, he would never have let that happen. It completely ruins the _mystery_ and the heart-fluttering drama of the series due to the way they’ve more or less condensed and even rewritten parts of two different plots.

“However, as _Icha Icha’s_ number one fan, I must see this through the end.” Kakashi punctuates his declaration of dedication by driving the bottom of his fist into the palm of his other hand. For a moment, he looks quite determined. And then, his expression turns into something wistful. “Maybe, if we’re lucky, they’ll bring Akira back from the dead…” Kakashi’s eyes widen dramatically above his mask as his gaze snaps over to Iruka. “What if that was the plan all along?!”

“Perhaps,” Iruka says, and chuckles because he can’t stop looking at the excited glee on Kakashi’s face. It’s stupidly adorable, and Iruka can’t help but smile back in amusement, shaking his head and trying to stifle his chuckles. “Which is why you’re going to finish the show and let me know if he does. I have no interest in pursuing the matter if it’s got nothing in it for me.” He takes another sip of his tea. “They really should adapt a proper R18-rated _Icha Icha_ series. Like get down to the nitty gritty, you know? Now _that_ , I’d be interested in watching. Wouldn’t you, Kakashi-san?”

Sure enough, Kakashi flushes a few shades underneath his mask, and a strange chuckle escapes from him as he waggles his eyebrows a bit. “I don’t know if that rating would be enough. After all, _Icha Icha_ does get quite… well…” Apparently, Hatake Kakashi can’t seem to finish a sentence properly when he starts to think about particularly filthy scenes from _Icha Icha_ , because his eyes glaze over strangely and all he can seem to do is chuckle.

“No, it’s not.” Iruka blinks, then raises both eyebrows. “It’s quite tame. I mean, I’m sure they’re things most of us have already done, you know?”

Kakashi just stares at Iruka, eyes wide.

“Iruka-sensei?”

“Hmm?”

“Just how shameless are you, anyway?” Kakashi looks completely flabbergasted. Clearly, his precious books cannot be called _tame!_ They are, after all, _the best books ever written_. And therefore, the sex scenes are also the best sex scenes, and “tame” is not a word that should ever describe them! “ _Icha Icha Violence_ was pretty much just nonstop BDSM. I mean, come on, Akira literally gets pegged by Junko in the fifth volume. That’s definitely not tame.”

“It’s not that risque, everyone should try getting pegged.” Iruka says, smiling behind the rim of his cup, just looking at Kakashi knowingly. Wonders will never cease. “Right?”

Kakashi just stares up at Iruka like he has no idea who he even is. And clearly, he doesn’t, because _who is this man_ standing next to the couch, who smiles at him so innocently from behind a cup of tea while talking about how getting fucked up the ass by a woman with a strap on is somehow something everyone should do.

_What._

Before he can open his mouth to argue again, the show comes back on.

“We’ll have to continue after the next commercial break,” Kakashi says, and abruptly goes right back to being glued to the television. Though, he does shift out of his comfortable duvet cocoon to pick up the cup of tea Iruka had been nice enough to make for him.

Iruka takes his portion of the sandwich from the plate and just _smiles_ at Kakashi, tipping his head in his direction and humming at the suggestion, “Good night Kakashi-san. If Akira gets revived, do let me know. I’m not one to care or weep over show-spoilers.” He waggles fingers in Kakashi’s direction, opting to say nothing because the dialogue had begun and that is Iruka’s cue to show himself out of the living room, munching on his sandwich the entire way.

It turns out that Akira does not get revived by the end of the episode, but seeing as it’s just the season premiere, there is still a chance that he might still be brought back.

Kakashi ends up eating the sandwich only after the first episode finishes.

That small, knowing smirk that was on Iruka’s face keeps floating back into his mind.

It seems there is far more to the Academy sensei than meets the eye, and Kakashi would very much like to find out what lies underneath the underneath of Umino Iruka.

 

*

 

It hits Iruka suddenly at the Academy just as his shift is ending, that it’s the fifteenth of September.

It’s Kakashi’s birthday.

Iruka remembers, years ago, when Naruto had just become genin and Team 7 was still whole, on a day much like this one, when the summer winds were segueing off to something cooler, Naruto had gone on and on one night about how the adult store wouldn’t let them purchase _Icha Icha_ merchandise. Iruka also remembers the next day, over a bowl of ramen, how Naruto had grinned ear to ear and told him that he and the team managed to procure an _Icha Icha Paradise_ t-shirt.

Kakashi left abruptly a few days ago on a mission, leaving him only a note to explain his sudden absence. It had come as a bit of a surprise — Iruka hadn’t expected an explanation, because Kakashi certainly isn’t obligated to let him know of his comings and goings. The gesture made warmth curl in his chest.

On his way home that evening, as Iruka walks down Tea Avenue, he pauses in front of a bookstore, catching sight of a small, travel friendly sized book he had just recently finished reading. _Secrets in the Sand_ isn’t exactly as torrid as Jiraiya’s _Icha Icha_ , but Iruka thinks it might just be something Kakashi may enjoy — a story of adventure, romance, sacrifice, and two very different people of different classes fighting for love against all odds.  

He purchases the book on a whim, without hesitation, and asks if he can get it wrapped.

With the artfully wrapped present tucked away and waiting for its recipient, Iruka decides that when Kakashi returns, he will prepare a slightly more extravagant dinner. It has been a while since he’s practiced his mother’s teachings.

 

*

 

Kakashi comes home three days after his birthday. Iruka feels his presence in the house when he steps into the genkan a little late in the afternoon and smiles. He can hear the pitter patter of paws in the living room, and when he makes his way further down the hallway, he finds Kakashi lying on the couch with one of his books cracked open in a hand, Pakkun napping on his stomach.

“Welcome back, Kakashi-san,” Iruka says, smiling warmly at the sight. With Kakashi and the pack gone, there had been a sudden shift in the house — a breeze that passed through all the rooms, which felt far too large once more. Iruka doesn’t realize how he had gotten so used to seeing Kakashi lazing about the house, until he had left.

He hadn’t expected Kakashi to be back so soon, and feels a little disappointed in himself for not being prepared enough to fix him a proper dinner.

“It’s good to be back,” Kakashi responds, his gaze washing over Iruka, something quiet and tired in his eyes. He must be tired from the mission, Iruka thinks, as he takes in the dark circles underneath Kakashi’s eyes.

“I’ll be preparing tea in a bit before I start on dinner. Would you like to join me outside? It’s a lovely evening,” Iruka offers, as he adjust the strap of his satchel on his shoulder.

“Sure.” Kakashi straightens a little, gently nudging Pakkun awake with a brush of his hand.

It’s tender, how his gloved hand brushes over soft fur, and Iruka finds himself looking away to head upstairs to change and get tea started.

He prepares tea and a tray of snacks, plating some nuts, senbei crackers, and oranges, the weight of his present tucked into the pocket of his pants. When he steps outside into the warm, breezy sunset, Kakashi is sitting on the engawa and leaning against the post, an elbow propped on his knee, as he watches the pack run and chase each other in the garden as the sun makes its way towards the horizon.

“Your lack of presence was felt. I’m glad you made it back safely, Kakashi-san.” Iruka hands him a cup of tea, setting the tray down between them. The house had been eerily quiet with Kakashi gone. “I missed them, too. How funny is that?” Iruka chuckles, watching Akino run after Bisuke.

Kakashi’s eyes flick over Iruka in faint surprise, fingers frozen at the edge of his mask. And as Iruka watches, a warm understanding seems to settle in his gaze, softening the edges as Kakashi looks down at his tea. When he pulls his mask down, revealing the faintest of smiles on his lips, Iruka can’t help but drink in the sight of a face he didn’t even realize he had missed. “Hmm…” Kakashi hums as he takes his time swallowing a sip of tea. “Are you saying you missed me, Iruka-sensei?” There’s a noticeable lilt to his tone, and much to Iruka’s consternation, a lopsided smirk curling across his mouth.

"It is natural to miss one's spouse when they’ve been gone for a while," Iruka deadpans, with a bit of an eyeroll as he takes a sip of his tea.

“Spouse, hmm?” Kakashi chuckles softly as he glances at Iruka with a slightly raised brow. “Does that mean you’re going to start calling me ‘dearest’?”

Iruka feels his cheeks warm as he throws Kakashi a bit a warning look before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small beautifully wrapped present. He hands it over to Kakashi, feeling a little embarrassed, before he says, "It's a little late, and it’s not much, but you were gone, so..." Iruka grins toothily. "Happy birthday, dearest.”

Kakashi stares down at the package in surprise — and for the fraction of less than a second, his eyebrows pinch together, something dark flashing through his gaze. It smooths out the next moment, like a ripple settling in the placid surface of a lake at night.  Iruka blinks in confusion, worry washing over his face, the grin tapering off as he tilts his head, a furrow digging between his brows. Did he make a misstep? Could it be that Kakashi didn’t want his birthday to be celebrated?

Kakashi reaches out and takes the present a moment later, and gives Iruka a small, faint smile. “Thanks, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Iruka admits and flushes a little, quickly looking away with a bit of an awkward laugh. “I remember how Naruto had mentioned it was your birthday years ago. He had been nagging endlessly about their attempts to get into the adult store to buy you official _Icha Icha_ merchandise. The things those three did…” Iruka shakes his head, fondness tugging at the edge of his words and the slightly exasperated expression on his face. Kakashi huffs a slightly amused breath, and there's a nostalgic look in his eyes, something that feels a little warmer, a little brighter, a little more like what Iruka had originally hoped for when he'd presented Kakashi with the present.

Iruka turns to look at Kakashi with a gentle smile, and adds, “It’s not _Icha Icha_ , but I hope you’ll still enjoy it, and maybe, let me know what you think sometime.”

“It was very thoughtful of you, Iruka-sensei.” It feels a little more sincere, a little less rehearsed, as Kakashi turns the package over in his hand. “Thanks, really.” He pauses for a moment, considering the ostentatious gift wrap. “You know, you could have just put it in a paper bag. How much time did you spend trying to wrap this thing anyway?”

“All night. I wanted it to be perfect for you. I wasted a lot of paper making those folds. It’s a lot more complicated than it looks,” Iruka says, without hesitation and a completely serious face. And then a few heartbeats later, when Kakashi just stares at him like he'd spouted an extra head, he grins. “Just kidding!”

Kakashi makes an amused sound, and Iruka almost catches a flash of his teeth when a fleeting grin flashes across his mouth. He sets his tea cup down on the engawa and glances over at Iruka. “Mind if I open this now?”

“Please do!” Iruka beams and picks up a slice of orange, a flush warming his cheeks as he watches Kakashi carefully unwrap the ornately-wrapped present. There's something curious on Kakashi's face as he slides his finger under the back seam. Iruka can't help but stare — Kakashi is so incredibly expressive without the mask. Iruka can read every emotion so clearly. It’s no wonder Kakashi wears a mask all the time. A face like that would give far too much away, if he walked around with it on display. Iruka finds himself unknowingly watching the way the setting sun washes over Kakashi, shadows cutting around the sharp lines of jaw and the set of his broad shoulders. Like this, Iruka can see the man underneath the weight of too many titles — in this moment, Kakashi isn't Sharingan Kakashi, the Copy Ninja, master of over a thousand jutsus. Nor is he the next Hokage. He's simply a man, like any other, so achingly human.

Iruka feels something fond and tender tug at the corners of his lips.

It’s almost like seeing Kakashi for the first time.

Kakashi manages to get the ornate wrapping paper open without tearing it, and carefully removes the book, turning it over to look at the front cover, an eyebrow immediately shooting up. Iruka had known it was a bit of a risk — buying Kakashi a book that features two men, when _Icha Icha_ overwhelming focuses on romantic entanglements between men and women, with very little attention spent on exploring the relationships between men, save for a subplot or two. But Kakashi has been with plenty of men — and if the rumors are anything to go by, he seems to sleep with men more than women, which would mean he shouldn't be opposed to reading a wonderfully written romance.

“Well,” Kakashi says, staring down at the cover, an amused smirk curling up the scarred corner of his mouth, “I certainly wasn't expecting this.” His eyes, dark and assessing, flick up to Iruka, who flushes even more under the attention. “Do you read books like this often, Iruka-sensei?” The teasing tone in his voice brushes over Iruka like roaming fingers. All the blood rushes to his head, and he's about to explain to Kakashi that it's actually a very good book, with a lovely narrative, when Kakashi’s voice drops to something a little rougher, the smirk on his mouth cutting a little deeper, and he says, “How _naughty_.”

Iruka backs up a little bit, horribly embarrassed and suddenly wondering if this had been a good idea at all. His heart is hammering against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears at being addressed in such a forward, almost seductive manner. Iruka doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, not entirely expecting this kind of reaction, or his name and title to come out so ridiculously luridly.  
  
Iruka glares, the blush stretching down this throat and all the way down the collar of his t-shirt. He can even feel the heat of embarrassment on his _arms._

“S-Stop making it sound so pervertedly twisted! I’ll have you know that it is in fact a lovely story of two very different people who are destined to be together even when all odds are against them! It’s a lovely read! I figured if you can like _Icha Icha_ , then surely you can appreciate something in the same genre! If you are going to make fun of me, then hand that over at once! And stop saying my name that way! How improper!”  
  
Iruka holds his hand out expectantly, fingers curling in a hand or over gesture, chin tipped high as he burns even redder with embarrassment.

But instead of handing him the book like Iruka fully expected, Kakashi presses it to his own chest instead, his smirk easing into something softer. “You know, it's quite rude to ask for a present back once you've given it,” he tells him lightly, and as Iruka watches, embarrassed and confused, Kakashi's mouth stretches into a wide grin, something playful and warm.

Iruka's breath catches in his throat at the sight. He's never seen Kakashi smile like this before.

Kakashi's smiles are usually so quiet and soft. Reticent, almost.

But this smile is bright and full and open in a way Iruka never thought Kakashi would be with him.

Iruka isn’t quite sure what to do but return the infectious smile, rubbing the back of his head. The embarrassment doesn’t quite subside, when the openness of Kakashi’s expression is so unexpected. Iruka had expected Kakashi to remain aloof and distant, perhaps civil and polite at most.

“Fine. You can keep it,” Iruka murmurs and turns his gaze away in favor of taking a sip of his tea. And after a while, as the sky darkens into night, purple sweeping across the heavens, he softly says, “Happy birthday, Kakashi-san.”

There's a distant look in Kakashi's eyes, which had been fixed on the darkening horizon.

“Thank you, Iruka-sensei,” he says softly.

His smile is as quiet and as soft as the way the last light of day finally fades from the sky. And through the velvet veil of darkness, the moon shines.

 

*

 

It turns out that Iruka was right — _Secrets of the Sand_ really is a lovely story.

Kakashi ends up reading the entire book cover to cover. By the time he finishes a second time, it’s nearly dawn, and he realizes he hadn’t slept at all. He had started reading shortly after dinner — Iruka had made all of his favorites, and afterwards, Kakashi casually slid a bag of star-shaped citrus candies across the table, which he’d picked up while on his mission.

I thought of you when I saw these, he told him, and Iruka blushed to the roots of his hair, the curve of his mouth breathtakingly sweet and shy, as he smiled and thanked him softly.

Kakashi doesn’t know how he managed to tear his eyes off of Iruka, when gravity keeps dragging the tide of his gaze back to Iruka’s shores.

(And he knows what it is, this feeling, secret and dark. Knows the impossibility of acting upon it, how disastrous it would be if he tried.)

It would’ve been too easy to forget about boundaries, if he wasn’t careful. So he immersed himself in the book instead, laying down on the couch with Pakkun on his lap, while Iruka cleaned up in the kitchen.

All things considered, the writing is quite elegant and enjoyable, though it doesn’t hold a candle to Jiraiya’s (as far as Kakashi is concerned, no one ever will). And though the sex scenes aren’t quite as raunchy or graphic or as plentiful as they are in _Icha Icha_ , they’re still wonderfully satisfying and hot enough to make Kakashi blush.

“Kakashi-san?” Iruka’s voice suddenly cuts across the expanse between the kitchen and the living room, and he stares at Kakashi with surprise.

Kakashi blinks as he looks up at him.

“You didn’t stay up reading all night, did you?” Iruka asks with a bit of a suspicious frown, and Kakashi just grins sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.

“Ah… It seems I might have lost track of time,” he says, as he straightens up, carefully nudging Pakkun off his lap and rolling the strain out of his shoulders.

Iruka sighs audibly and shakes his head with an amused smile tugging at his lips, a soft huff of laughter leaving his lips, curiosity shining in his eyes. “You should probably try to get some rest later. You still look exhausted from your mission. Did you finish reading the book?”

“Twice,” Kakashi admits, with a soft chuckle, as he gets up off the couch, and stretches, then heads into the kitchen. “You were right. It was very good. I really enjoyed the story.”

“Told you so.” Iruka sounds like he’s singing the words out, as he putters about the kitchen to get breakfast started; he is in the middle of chopping up some vegetables when he asks, “Who is your favourite character? And why?”

“That's a difficult question,” Kakashi says contemplatively as he takes out the coffee beans and the grinder. “They're all beautifully written…” He pauses in consideration. “I suppose I relate to Kougami more, but Shinsuke is probably my favorite...” He was full of so much hope and light and dreamt all the dreams his counterpart couldn’t have, and would always blush when he was angry or embarrassed. It made him think of Iruka, of how easily he dreams, how much hope Kakashi sees in his eyes when he looks at him.

It’s a rare quality that few shinobi who have lived through as much loss as Iruka still have.

But Kakashi can’t very well say that to Iruka, so he tells him instead, “I liked how he never gave up hope. It’s… a rare quality to have.”

“Kougami didn’t either,” Iruka points out, eyes on the cutting board and a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He had countless of opportunities to escape, to kill Shinsuke and leave, but he didn’t. He stayed, fought for him — he didn’t sound like he had a lot of hope. He didn’t sound like he knew how to hold on to it either. But he really did, however little,” Iruka chuckles and looks over his shoulder at Kakashi, a sheepish expression on his face, a slight flush dusting over his cheeks. “Can you tell he’s my favourite?”

“Ah,” Kakashi says knowingly, as he measures beans out into the grinder. “So that’s your type, hmm?” Iruka blinks and tilts his head to the side, but before he can open his mouth to respond, Kakashi grins and turns on the grinder.

The flush on Iruka’s cheeks deepens, but there’s a soft smile, almost wistful, tugging as his lips as he fires up the stove and starts to assemble their omelettes. The grinder turns off just as the stove hisses. “It’s nice though, a story like theirs, to read about someone loving another so deeply that way — it’s unrealistic, but it’s nice.”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow in mild surprise. Iruka had always seemed like the type who believed in the idea of happily ever after, in the kind of love that Kakashi knows he’ll never have. “Are you saying you don’t believe in that kind of love?” It comes out a little incredulous, as he flicks on the coffee maker after pouring in the grounds, the smell of fresh coffee slowly starting to fill the air.

“Oh please, Kakashi-san,” Iruka scoffs, something playful tugging around the corners of his syllables. “I’m not twelve. I’m sure others believe in it, maybe some are even lucky to find someone in their lifetime who’d love them the way those two did with each other.” Iruka turns his back to take out a plate, carefully sliding on a perfectly folded omelette and setting it aside to prepare a second one. “It’s a story. It doesn’t make it real, even if you wish for it.”

“I’m surprised,” Kakashi admits, as he sets a kettle on the stove for Iruka’s tea. “I assumed you’d be more of a hopeless romantic.”

Iruka clicks his tongue. “My, Kakashi-san, I didn’t peg you for the type to judge a book by its cover.” He chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “No one has time for romance.”

“Ah, don’t let Naruto hear you say that,” Kakashi says with a wry smile, as he pulls a pair of mugs out of the cabinet, and pours himself a cup of coffee. “You might just break his heart.”

“Goodness, no. I would never!” Iruka laughs then, full and easy, as he carefully folds over the second omelette in the pan. “Naruto deserves all the good there is in the world. Looking at him sometimes makes me want to believe in a lot of things. I suppose that’s just Naruto’s effect on everyone.”

All Iruka gets for a response is a hum of agreement, as Kakashi takes a sip of his coffee and leans against the counter, watching Iruka cook. He’s not sure what this feeling is — this quiet, unsettled thing, in the pit of his stomach, as he looks at Iruka and tries to imagine him alone for the rest of his life. There’s something wrong about that image.

Iruka deserves to be loved, to have love in his life, to be happy.

The thought that Iruka doesn’t even believe in it — at least not for himself, even if it’s something he might have wanted — makes Kakashi wonder just who had hurt him so badly before that he’d lost faith in the idea of ever having someone love him like he so richly deserves.

“What about you, Kakashi-san?” Iruka asks, plating the omelette and turning the stove off before moving to the rice cooker. “Do you believe in that kind of love?”

“No.” It comes out without any hesitation.

There are too many broken pieces of him for someone to hold; too much ugliness, and too many scars, and too much blood on his skin that he’ll never be able to wash off. Kakashi doesn’t know what it would even mean to love someone, or to be loved like he’s read in these kind of books. He’s only ever glimpsed what it might feel like in passing, in the looks Minato-sensei and Kushina-san exchanged with one another when they were still alive, and in the way their shadows held hands as they walked down the street together at night. In the smiles and in the laughter of families that live in the light, who don’t smell of dirt and blood and the decay that is the smell of men like him who go to war in the night.

Love was never meant for men like him, who don’t even know what it means to be alive.

“It isn’t for me,” Kakashi says a little too lightly, and there’s a wry smile twisting up one corner of his mouth.  

Iruka looks at Kakashi then, something tightening around the corners of his eyes, as he tries not to outright frown at the statement. He supposes he can understand, wanting the best for others but not for yourself; Iruka would be a hypocrite if he dared to disagree with that statement. He doesn’t know Kakashi, doesn’t know anything about his past, beyond gossip and rumors. He doesn’t know who may have hurt him, or whom he may have hurt, to believe that the idea of loving someone —  someone loving him in return — would be impossible, let alone something he doesn’t deserve.

Iruka isn’t even sure how to swallow that down, when he understands it a little too well, himself. After all, he finds it still so difficult to let his heart remain unarmored, after a betrayal that he should have been able to get over, by now.

It’s what makes gentle understanding tug up at the corners of his lips, as he looks away and fusses with their bowls of rice.

“Well,” Iruka says, blithely as the smile on his lips stretches out to a cheekier grin. “A weekend or a one night adventure is a lot more fun than a relationship, isn’t it? So little drama~”

It isn’t really a question, and comes out like a scandalous whisper, punctuated with an eye roll, as Iruka brings their breakfast to the table.

An easy grin finds its way back onto Kakashi’s face, and he fills the teapot with boiling water from the kettle. “Assuming you don’t get married while blackout drunk, it certainly is more fun.”

“You and I do not count.” Iruka points between them both. “Heavens, I still can’t remember what happened or how it even reached that point. I’ve been to my fair share of parties, and have had blackouts too — but that was a lot of vomit and goodness…” Iruka shakes his head.

Kakashi chuckles, a low sound of amusement at the back of his throat. “What did you even do with that vase? I still can’t believe you actually _took_ it with you.”

Iruka _flushes_ , and tries to smother his giggles. “I left it in the hotel lobby’s men’s room. That way, it can be _anyone_ ’s vase.”

Kakashi can’t help the way laughter rolls right out of him — the kind that’s loud and open and unabashed, because the thought of it — Iruka surreptitiously sneaking into the men’s room with a vase full of vomit in his arms — is honestly too much for him to bear. He claps a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking, and his laughter must be infectious, because Iruka ends up laughing with him, as well.

“Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi manages to say, between laughs, “you’re setting a terrible example for your students, if they ever found out.”

“Then I hope you’re not a tattle-tale, Kakashi-san~” Iruka swipes a finger under his tearing eyelids, laughter easing off into light chuckles. “All things considered, it’s not so bad — being married to you.” Iruka’s grin is wide and toothy as he looks over at Kakashi, who meets his gaze and gives him a soft, warm smile.

“Saa… I can’t complain too much.” Kakashi returns his grin as he pours Iruka a cup of tea and sets it before him. “After all, I have my own personal cook. And he isn’t half bad.”

“ _Excellent_ cook, Kakashi-san. Please be more accurate,” Iruka corrects, giving Kakashi a pointed look he would’ve directed at a student. “I won’t have my husband walking around speaking half-truths.”

Kakashi chuckles and waves his hand disarmingly at Iruka. “Ah~ Sorry, sorry, you’re right. How could I have been so careless. You’re an _excellent_ cook, Iruka-sensei.” He looks at him with a slightly raised brow, mouth quirked with a playful smirk.  “I suppose you would like me to shout it from the rooftops as well, as part of my marital duties.”

“And don’t forget to take the trash out,” Iruka says without missing a beat, as he picks up his cup of tea. “Now eat your breakfast. It’s getting cold.”

“Yes, dear,” Kakashi says, and sits down to eat.

And like always, it’s delicious.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dearest"/"Dear" is _Anata_ in Japanese, which is what wives often call their husbands. ("Anata" also means "you," but there's a double entendre!)
> 
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	6. Chapter 6

The truth is —

Kakashi never imagined a life where he would wake up in the morning and discover breakfast waiting for him on the kitchen table. A life of shared meals and quiet laughter, and the way Iruka’s mouth shapes itself into bright smiles that dimples his cheeks. A life where Kakashi finds himself spending more time with someone living than with his dead. He doesn’t stand in front of the memorial quite as long as he once did; there’s always someone waiting for him, now.

The truth is —

Kakashi isn’t sure when exactly he stopped thinking of this house as something other than a prison of his own making that he’d be trapped in for six months. Maybe it was that time when Iruka tried to give his ninken a bath; or maybe it was the taste of Iruka’s food in his mouth, the smell of him in the air after he’d left for the Academy in the mornings.

(Or maybe it was when they started to play the game of trying to trick the other into doing all of the other’s chores.)

The truth is —

There are days when Kakashi wants to spend more time with his ghosts than he does with the living. When he stands in front of Obito’s memorial and remembers the weight of his scars. Sometimes, he doesn’t know how to go on without the part of Obito that had been ripped out of him on the battlefield. The part that had come to define him for more than half his life  — _Sharingan Kakashi,_ the Copy Ninja who has a thousand techniques buried somewhere inside of him that he’ll never be able to fully use again. Raikiri crackles at the edges of his fingertips and sizzles out like a spark in the rain.

On those days, Kakashi doesn’t come home until it’s well past dinnertime. Doesn’t say a word to Iruka, even if he happens to still be awake. But Kakashi knows there is always a plate waiting for him on the kitchen counter. The next morning, when Iruka wakes up, in the place of the plate of food is always a simple note: **Thank you.**

(Kakashi eats his dinner in the middle of the night, when the world is quiet and still, and the only sound is the soft clink of chopsticks against porcelain.)

For the first time, in nineteen years, Kakashi is mostly content, or at least as content as someone as broken as Kakashi can be. He tells himself it’s because the missions have gotten easier, less brutal. Or because the war is finally over, and peace in the Five Countries might actually be possible, after all. And though, there are still days when the weight of loss is sometimes enough to shatter him, those days are fewer and further in between.

What’s more present, and constant, is Iruka.

And the truth is, Kakashi doesn’t understand what that means.

 

*

 

Peace falls in the Five Countries, but when Kakashi sleeps, the war returns.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, the scent of death sharp in his nose — iron and copper and burning ozone — and a battlefield rolling out before his eyes. Obito shatters before him, and all he can do is watch helplessly as he turns to dust, leaving Kakashi behind to live on for him once more. Sometimes it comes in the shape of a soft, beautiful girl who was only fourteen when she died.  He hates that the last thing to ever come out of her mouth was his name, and that he can never get the image of her dying out of his eyes.

On those nights, when Kakashi can’t go back to sleep, he can always sense Iruka’s presence in the room down the hall — warm, steady, reassuring. _I’m here,_ he seems to say, without saying anything at all.

Kakashi thinks it’s what he would say if he knew.

 

*

 

There is a slight shift in their relationship in a way that Iruka doesn’t mind being a little more open with Kakashi. He finds himself willing to talk more, tell him about his day and sometimes, just complain about his frustrations with some of his rowdier students.

Over the course of the next several weeks, Iruka finds that he’s had some of the best conversations over meals with Kakashi. It’s so easy to talk to him, and without Iruka realizing, his guard drops completely, the polite distance and stiffness he had originally been resolute on maintaining evaporating like dust in the air.

Iruka also looks forward to evenings when the pack is around, and much to his surprise, he had gotten a little too attached to Bisuke. He dotes on him the most, almost as much as Pakkun, always picking him up by the doorway and holding him in his arms. Sometimes, he feels Kakashi’s gaze wash over him while he nuzzles the friendly summon his arms, and he thinks there’s something tender in his expression — but it may just have been a trick of the light.

Iruka knows he’ll never forget the feeling of getting dogpiled when he meets the pack again after he had made them homemade doggie treats. It had been the best feeling the world.

(He’ll also never forget the sight of Kakashi doubled over in stitches when Iruka had ended up on his ass in the garden one day, all wet and slightly muddy, dog hair and soap suds all over him as he battled with the hose, when he attempted to give the pack a bath — which they had insisted on. He should have known better.)

The tension in the house is completely gone — they are so comfortable around each other that Kakashi no longer wears his mask up around the house, except when he’s getting ready to go out. And there’s also the fact that Kakashi is thoughtful enough to bring him things from his travels when he goes away on short missions. Little things, mostly. Like that box of delicious stuffed dates from Suna. Or those candied apples from Lightning. Or those truffles from Earth. Iruka can’t stop the excitement that rises up within him when he sees a box on the kitchen counter, along with Kakashi’s note.

Kakashi had gotten him peaches imported from River Country last week when he went grocery shopping — an entire bushel. The note he had tacked to the side of the fruit bowl simply said: **They were on sale.**

(They were the sweetest, most delicious peaches Iruka had ever tasted in his life.)

When Kakashi isn’t home, Iruka finds himself unable to shake the emptiness of the house. He’s never going to get used to the vastness — all the quiet spaces that Kakashi and his pack usually fill. He always breathes a little easier when he comes home to find Kakashi lounged on the couch, or the sound of dogs barking from the gates, that always make his feet quicken to the front door, where he is greeted by a small mountain of warm fur and soft, wet tongues.

(One day, Kakashi will make someone deliriously happy, Iruka thinks, and that person will be so lucky to have someone like Kakashi in their life.)

When Iruka hears the front door open, the wards buzzing lightly with Kakashi’s chakra, he calls out from the kitchen, “Dinner is gonna be ready in ten! I made pork kakuni.”

The kitchen is fragrant with simmering food on the stove, and Kakashi can’t help but inhale with a bit of a grin as he sets grocery bags down on the counter. Iruka’s cooking has come to be the one thing Kakashi looks forward to most days. He’s not entirely sure how, after being spoiled with so much good cooking, he’ll ever be able to go back to his diet of take-out and ration bars and the occasional home-cooked meal when he actually bothers to put forth the effort.

Maybe Iruka wouldn’t be opposed to starting a catering service for home-cooked meals.

“Smells good,” he says as he starts to unpack the bags. “I’ll be home for the next few days, so I can probably handle dinner tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it!” Iruka says, as he turns the stove off and looks over his shoulder, tossing Kakashi a toothy grin.

Iruka begins to plate two bowls of steaming rice, garnishing the salad and other side dishes. Kakashi’s portion is considerably larger than Iruka’s own.

Within ten minutes, the table is set and Iruka is pulling off his apron, and like most nights, when they do manage to eat together, he asks, “How was your day?”

“Uneventful, unless you count when Gai challenged me to a wheelchair race,” Kakashi explains as he pulls out two beers from the fridge, then pops the caps off.

“Did you _win?”_ Iruka asks both eyebrows up, as he stirs some chili sauce into his portion.

Kakashi sighs, shoulders slumping as he sets Iruka’s beer in front of him. “It was close, but Gai’s had quite a lot more practice than me these past few months.”

“Well, Gai-san truly is exceptional. I would have expected him to win.” Iruka looks up and then drops his voice to a scandalous whisper, “But don’t worry. I’m always cheering for Team Kakashi. I think you’re exceptional, too.”

There’s a cheeky grin that hollows both dimples as Iruka tries to rein in the laugh threatening to bubble its way out of him. He can only imagine the sight two fully grown and respectable shinobi must have made in the village with their challenge.

“Maa, I’m not that special.” Kakashi shrugs lightly as he takes a seat across from Iruka, and unfolds his napkin over his lap, focusing on the beer in front of him instead of getting distracted by the dimples in Iruka’s cheeks. “But thank you for cheering for Team Kakashi. We take donations as well, in the form of housework. You can show your appreciation by cleaning my bathroom for me.” Somehow, the line is delivered with a completely straight face.

“Shall I make your bed and fold your laundry, as well? Rub your back too, while I’m at it?” Iruka offers, without a beat and bite to his words.

“Hmm,” Kakashi hums as he rubs his chin thoughtfully in the way that he does when he’s about to say something particularly wise. “I suppose that would fall within the range of acceptable donations.”

“What wouldn’t be acceptable? Just out of curiosity. I mean, while we’re on the topic, I certainly wouldn’t want to step on your toes~”

“Underwear,” Kakashi says without missing a beat as he reaches for his chopsticks. “I should probably wash and fold my own, but you’re welcome to the rest.”

“And here I thought we’re past the _shyness,_ Kakashi-san. After all, there’s not a single part of you I haven’t already seen~” Iruka laughs, saying his _itadakimasu_ in between chuckles as he picks up his chopsticks and purposely looks down at his plate, helping himself to some rice.

“Well, I was trying to be polite, but if you really insist, Iruka-sensei, you’re more than welcome to do _all_ of my laundry, as a donation to Team Kakashi,” Kakashi says with a lopsided grin as he reaches out for a piece of pork.

And it’s at that exact moment that a loud banging at the door suddenly startles him, making him tense immediately — until Naruto’s loud voice comes bursting through the door.

“KAKASHI-SENSEI!!! IRUKA-SENSEI!! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! COME OUT!!”

All the color drains from Kakashi’s face. He had completely forgotten that Naruto, Sakura, and Sai would be back from their mission, and most likely had discovered that their senseis had apparently gotten married and were now living together.

“Oh! They’re back? I hadn’t heard!” Iruka grins, pushing his chair back and getting up from the table. “Good thing I made extras —”

“Where do you think you're going?” Kakashi asks as he pulls his mask up and sets his chopsticks down. “Sit down.”

They hadn't discussed what they would do if and when Naruto and Sakura inevitably found out about them. In fact, they haven't even talked about what they would say, or what their story would be as to _why_ or _how_ they even got married in the first place. But, without a doubt, admitting that they got married while blackout drunk probably wouldn't be a good idea.

Iruka sits back down so hard that it actually hurts. He stares at Kakashi wide eyed for a long time, in silence, as he considers the implications of this visit. From down the hallway, he hears Naruto yell their names again, punctuating each syllable with a fist knocking on the door. He then hears Sakura’s voice, and the both of them engage in an argument, with Sakura mostly lecturing Naruto about manners — oh. Heavens. No.

All the blood leaves Iruka’s body, pooling at his feet, as he brings hands to his temples, elbows propping on the table. No amount of alcohol will ever prepare Iruka for this conversation.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this _sober_ — should we tell them the truth?”

“Absolutely not.” The conviction in Kakashi's voice is solid, unwavering.

If there is anything Kakashi knows, it's that Naruto and Sakura can’t ever find out the truth of what happened — their perception of their senseis would change forever. Naruto would _never_ let them forget.  

“We can probably tell them that it's for an undercover mission that we are preparing for, which requires us to get married and live together to learn each other’s habits, to sell the cover story more easily,” he suggests after a moment of thought.

“Okay.” Iruka doesn’t even think twice. “That — that sounds like something they may buy.” He’s willing to hide and pretend and dance to any tune, so long as their ridiculous ‘misadventure’ never sees the light of day again. They are still waiting for their marriage to be annulled anyway, so it can pass off as a very convincing cover. Iruka can’t stop the flinch when Naruto knocks again, and his knees shake. “If he starts asking _impossible_ questions, I’m leaving you to pull rank!” Iruka hisses in slight panic, and carefully stands up. “Because you _know_ he will!”

“Why am I the one who has to answer the questions? You're probably better at it — you're an Academy sensei, after all,” Kakashi retorts, as he gets up as well, starting to clear his place setting from the kitchen table to place on the counter.

“My solution was to tell the truth! And then explain that we are in the middle of finalizing a divorce! And that doesn’t exactly sound very good, does it? So yes, _you answer!_ Scare him with your - your eyes or expression. You’re quite good at shutting people up with it.” Iruka grabs the bowls and shoves them into the fridge, dumping all the cutlery into the sink.  

“KAKAAAASHI-SENSEI!! IRUKAAA-SENSEI!! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!! I CAN FEEL YOUR CHAKRA, Y’KNOW!” Naruto hollers again, as he bangs on the door.

Kakashi sighs. “So, how do you want to do this? You want me to answer the door?”

“I’ll get it. Living room,” Iruka grumbles, and wonders if running away or pretending to be sick is a good idea.

The walk between the kitchen and the front door feels like a march to the guillotine. Time slows down as Iruka turns the knob and plasters on the fakest, widest, cheeriest smile his face is capable of twisting into. His eyes settle on Sai’s impassive face, Sakura’s gleaming eyes, and right in the middle of it all is Naruto, with a mixture of shock, betrayal, horror, happiness, and disappointment painted across his face.

“Ah, you guys are back! How was your trip? It’s good to see you, it’s been a while!” Iruka manages, his voice just a little too high pitched.

“Congratulations, Iruka-san,” Sai says with a rather forced smile.

“Sensei, I’m happy for you! We didn’t know!” Sakura claps, smiling and looking genuinely happy, but maybe a bit touch confused, the poor thing.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT INVITE ME TO YOUR WEDDING!” Naruto suddenly yells, and Iruka tries not to wince, as he gives Naruto a somewhat tense smile and throws the door open, “Why don’t you all come inside? And my _dearest husband_ can explain everything.” Iruka marches straight for the living room, trying not to have an anxiety attack on the spot. “Kakashi-san~? Dearest? Look who came by to see us!” he calls out, swearing that he will fight him if Kakashi _dares_ attempt to escape.

Kakashi tries not to spit out the mouthful of beer he had been nursing. He had taken up residence on the couch with _Icha Icha_ , trying to make it look like he hadn’t just been in the kitchen with Iruka, but here, all long, ignoring the front door.

Naruto stomps past Iruka and points a finger of accusation in Kakashi’s direction. “Kakashi-sensei!! I thought you liked girls! How come you’re married to Iruka-sensei?! This doesn’t even make sense, y’know!!! AND HOW COME I WASN’T INVITED TO YOUR WEDDING?!” The teenager genuinely looks distraught.

Kakashi laughs awkwardly as he straightens up from where he’d been reclined on the couch with his book, and sets the beer down. “Naruto,” he says, as he stands up. “I know this may be difficult for you to understand, but you see, Iruka-sensei and I aren’t actually married.”

“Eh?” Naruto, who had looked like he was getting ready to fight Kakashi right there in the living room deflates like a huge balloon, completely confused.

He isn’t the only one who’s confused. Sakura’s eyes widen, and she bursts out with a loud, _“Haah?!_ ”

“But — But, Kakashi-sensei, you guys are _living together_ and everyone says you’re married, y’know!!!” Naruto’s face scrunches up with confusion as he looks over to Iruka, then back to Kakashi, then back to Iruka again, pointing between the two of them in bewilderment.

“That’s because we’re training for an undercover mission that we’re departing on in about four months from now,” Kakashi says smoothly without missing a beat, his eyes curved into perfect crescents above the edge of his mask. He then leans in a little to Naruto, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s a very classified mission, so we need you all to sell the story.”

“Now you know.” Iruka gives a little shrug. “Besides, if either of us were to really get married, don’t you think we’d want _you_ at the wedding? I would never _not_ invite you. You _know_ that,” Iruka says, pushing the emotional aspect further and feeling like an absolute heel. “Legally, we are married, he _is_ my husband, I am listed as a _Hatake._ So this is where we will be. Until the mission ends.”

Sai simply nods, understanding, even though he gives them a bit of a long stare.

Sakura looks the tiniest bit disappointed, which Iruka finds rather strange and has the grace to flush at her reaction.

“So you didn’t miss any wedding. Or anything important. I promise,” Iruka says, and smiles.

Naruto seems to accept this explanation, and starts laughing awkwardly, as he rubs the back of his head. “Ahh! I see, I see! Uhh… I don’t really get all the legal stuff, but I guess it’s an important mission, right? And it wasn’t a real wedding, so I guess we didn’t really miss anything important, right?”

“It seems you’re starting to understand, Naruto,” Kakashi says, and then switches into his best sensei voice, which he tends to use when explaining particularly complicated training exercises or concepts to Naruto. “Sometimes, as a shinobi, you have to take missions that require you to take extra steps to create an airtight cover. You get it, right?”

Naruto scratches his whispered cheek with a finger. “I guess…” He makes a bit of a face then. “Why didja pick Iruka-sensei? This is really weird, y’know!”

“Naruto!” Sakura scolds, hands on her hips. “You know that Kakashi-sensei probably didn’t have a choice. Tsunade-sama most likely decided that Iruka-sensei was the best match for Kakashi-sensei in this mission. Right, Iruka-sensei?”

“That is right.” Iruka nods, going with that excuse. “I received my orders and unfortunately, my clearance doesn’t give me the authority to know what goes on in the selection process for this kind of mission. But as you all know, a mission is a mission and I must follow my commanding officer. Kakashi-san was just as _surprised_ on the day he found out about our arrangement.” Iruka turns to look at Kakashi then, holding his gaze. “I guess we will never know what they were thinking, hmm?” Iruka pauses for a beat before he asks, “Any questions?”

“Yes,” Sai suddenly speaks up, and all Kakashi can think is _oh no,_ as he braces himself for what’s coming next. “Academy senseis are not supposed to be on active duty and take missions. It is my understanding that Iruka-san is not a particularly exceptional shinobi, and is only average at best—”

“Sai!” Sakura looks completely horrified. “That’s very rude! You shouldn’t talk about Iruka-sensei like that!”

“Yeah, Sai! What the hell, y’know?!” Naruto yells.

“Oh.” Sai blinks, and then smiles that terribly fake smile of his. “I apologize. I am merely speaking the truth. Why was Iruka-san chosen, instead of someone more qualified with undercover assignments, such as a member from ANBU? This decision does not seem to make a lot of sense.”

“Saa,” Kakashi shrugs, rather dismissively. “I’d love to tell you the reasoning, but unfortunately none of you have the proper security clearance, so as it stands, there’s not much I can say.” He pauses then, for dramatic emphasis, as though he’s actually trying to consider what he _can_ tell them. “I suppose, the three of you will just have to consider what Iruka-sensei does in fact excel at, and why Konoha’s best Academy sensei was considered completely essential for an undercover mission.”

Of course, Kakashi knows Naruto won’t be able to parse out the unspoken implication easily, but it seems that his answer is good enough for Sai and Sakura, who probably both assumed just now that Iruka’s background as an Academy sensei is probably required as part of his cover for the mission.

“I see,” Sai says thoughtfully. “I did not consider that Iruka-san’s experience as an Academy sensei could be of value in the field.”

“Next time, before you open your mouth, you might want to first think about what’s underneath the underneath,” Kakashi says. “That is, after all, what separates an exceptional shinobi from one who is only average at best.”

Iruka blushes to the roots of his hair. He is terribly embarrassed on Sai’s behalf, embarrassed that he and Kakashi have to sell this excuse to justify their drunken mistake, embarrassed that he has to stand there and not be able to defend himself because it’s not like it’s an incorrect observation — he’s used to that kind of perception.

He can’t defend himself, when the truth is so much more worse.

“Well.” Iruka straightens, keeping the smile on his face. “Now that you have your answers, it’s getting late, and Kakashi-san and I have much to discuss. Is there anything else we can help you with?”

“We’ll leave you two to it, Iruka-sensei.” Sakura says, nodding.

 _“Ahh!!”_ Naruto suddenly exclaims, as though he's just realized something particularly genius. His eyes glitter bright with excitement and he snickers a bit. “Hey, wait a minute!! Iruka-sensei! If you're living with Kakashi-sensei and you gotta be his fake husband or whatever, that means you've seen his face right? What does he really look like? Does he have buck teeth? A weird tan line? _Big zits?_ ”

“Oi! Naruto!” Kakashi complains, then looks at Iruka with a somewhat desperate expression.

Sakura giggles lightly, clapping her hands over her mouth, and then somehow manages to stifle her giggle into an expression that isn't completely interested in Iruka's answer.

“He’s cute,” Iruka says without hesitation.

Clearly, Sakura and Naruto weren't expecting that answer, as both of their eyes widen in shock and their jaws drop. Kakashi just groans, and drops his face into a hand.

“Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi says, sounding a bit defeated. “You're ruining my cool, mysterious image.”

 _“Whaaat??”_ Naruto squawks out as his head whips over to Kakashi, who is trying very hard to maintain his composure. “You've really seen under Kakashi-sensei’s mask?!”

“What kind of cute is he, Iruka-sensei?” Sakura suddenly chimes in, trying to dig for information. “Is he like Sasuke-kun cute, or is he more like Kagemasa kind of cute?” As in, the world’s most famous shinobi movie star, who is currently considered the sexiest man alive by many magazines.

Meanwhile, Kakashi is starting to turn an interesting shade of red under his mask.

“Hey! What about Naruto kind of cute, huh, Sakura-chan? I'm cute too!” Naruto whines.

“You are many things, Naruto, but I do not believe you are very cute,” Sai points out.

“Oi! Sai!” Naruto complains.

Iruka doesn’t answer verbally, but he does give Sakura a wink before pointedly saying, “Good night, you three.”

“Yes, you may leave now.” The sooner, the better, Kakashi thinks.

“Wait! We can't leave yet! Iruka-sensei has to answer the question!” Naruto quickly interjects, because his desire for knowing what's underneath Kakashi’s mask clearly trumps whatever manners he might have.

“Naruto. I answered your question. If you don’t believe me, you will just have to try and unmask Kakashi-sensei yourself.” Iruka is herding them towards the door, good host manners begone.

“But he can't be cute! How can you say he’s cute! Iruka-sensei, are you starting to like him or something? He’s not a puppy! Or a baby! Why cute?”

“Have a nice night!” Iruka says brightly, as he gently pushes Naruto out the door, herding the other two out as well. “It’s called an opinion, by the way. Don’t be rude! You may hurt Kakashi-sensei’s feelings!”

“But, but, Irukaaa-senseeiiii! You're supposed to be—” The door slams shut in Naruto's face before he can finish his sentence.

Kakashi can hear Naruto still yelling outside as he runs a hand wearily through his hair. That was _definitely_ not how he expected things would go. (But he supposes that he should give them points for creativity, for thinking of including Iruka in their long-term goals to unmask him.)

“Are you okay?” Iruka asks, gentle and almost tentative.

“Yeah, I guess,” Kakashi says, sounding a little drained, as he rubs at the back of his neck slightly. “You know they're going to hound you endlessly for information, now. They'll probably be quite relentless… maybe you should have lied and just said you didn't know.”

The knowledge that Iruka has actually seen under Kakashi’s mask means that Naruto and Sakura would both have renewed interest in figuring out the great mystery.

“Oops,” Iruka says, rolling his eyes good naturedly as he heads for the kitchen to take out the liquor he keeps for nights like these. “Sorry, it didn’t really cross my mind. Next time I see them, I’ll tell them it’s part of the cover. Kind of fits the whole… being your husband thing. Naruto will buy it.” Iruka pours a generous amount of liquor and swallows the whole thing down in one go. “All in all, I think that went rather well, didn’t it?”  It would have gone much better, had Iruka not told them about Kakashi's supposedly “cute” face, but all things considered, it wasn't quite the train wreck it could have been.

“They seem to have bought the story,” Kakashi responds, as he empties out the beer bottle in the sink, then tosses it into the recycling bin, and then crosses over to the fridge to remove the bowls Iruka had hastily shoved in there to cover up the signs of their dinner. “I give Naruto three days before he starts telling everyone that they need to keep a very important secret about us,” he continues, as he sets the bowls out on the kitchen island. “Before long, the entire village will have forgotten about us, since we're just ‘on a mission.’”

“And this is bad exactly how?” Iruka asks, shaking his head and pouring himself another glass. “Shouldn’t that be a good thing? I mean, neither of us wanted this, right? We’re still waiting for the paperwork to come through.” Iruka tosses back the drink in one go. “I didn’t think you’d be bothered by the opinion of the village. Are you?”

“Not particularly,” Kakashi admits as he uncovers his plate, and then opens the microwave to reheat the contents. “I suppose what just happened was probably a blessing in disguise.”

He watches as Iruka pours another drink and knocks another one back on an empty stomach and raises an eyebrow. “Aren't you working tomorrow? You might want to go easy on the alcohol.”

Alcohol was, after all, what had gotten them into this mess to begin with.

“Helps me sleep. May or may not be a drinking problem. Shhh, don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.” Iruka exaggerates in a conspiratorial tone, then puts the bottle back in the fridge. “I’m going to bed. This is — this is — hell...”  Iruka looks around, gesticulating with a hand before giving up trying elaborate the storm that is churning in his head.

He had been looking forward to their usual dinner, to talk and be in Kakashi’s company. He looks at the row of empty food bowls for the dogs lining one wall, the sweet pears and golden apples Kakashi had bought for him a few days ago in a bowl on the counter, the notes Iruka had stuck on the fridge as reminders to either himself or the both of them. It makes him cringe, because he had to tell one lie after another to _Naruto,_ of all people, when the house they live in had started to feel a little more like home.

Iruka finds himself flinching as he recalls the excuses he had played along with, serving as just another reminder that they’re stuck in this odd limbo of neither here, nor there, married yet not, with the need to justify their mistakes to save face — it leaves a very sour taste in his mouth, making his throat constrict and nausea churn in his stomach.

Iruka was never good at lying, and didn’t believe in lying to people he trusted, despite the fact that as a shinobi, one of the first few things that he had learned was deception.

And the most terrible thing about all of this is the fact that Iruka _still_ can’t remember the events of that night and probably never will.  

“I think I’ll go to bed, instead. Goodnight, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi looks after Iruka’s receding backside as he heads down the hall for the stairs.

It's not like Iruka to skip dinner like this, or leave such a mess in the kitchen.

Iruka must really have been shaken up by the incident — even called it, or their living arrangement _hell._

Kakashi had thought, going into it, that it _would_ be hell — that he wouldn't have any privacy, that Iruka would constantly be intruding into his space. He hadn't anticipated that the moments he shared with Iruka would've become some of the brightest moments in his life. Hadn't expected that he would come to want Iruka in his space, all the time.

And though he knew that they could never be anything more — that Iruka deserved someone far better — Kakashi had believed that their relationship had grown into something meaningful. Something powerful enough to chase away Kakashi's ghosts.

Could it be that Iruka didn't actually feel the same way?

That, all along, he actually thought of their arrangement as _hell?_

The timer goes off on the microwave.

Kakashi suddenly isn't all that hungry anymore, but he still takes out the plate, finishes off its contents without really tasting the food, and then cleans up around the kitchen. He covers Iruka’s plate with plastic film and then sticks it in the fridge, does the dishes, and wipes down the counter tops and stove.

He realizes then that Iruka probably just wanted to make these six months go as smoothly and comfortably as possible for them both. He had never given any indication that he would want to continue whatever it is that they have after the divorce.

 _Hell,_ he’d called it.

_This is hell._

Kakashi suddenly feels foolish. He should have noticed it earlier — should have remembered. Iruka doesn't really want to be here. Technically, Kakashi shouldn't either. And yet, of the two of them, only one considers their situation to be bad enough that having alcohol for dinner seems like a good idea. A drinking problem, Iruka had so blithely called it.

You are an idiot, Kakashi thinks to himself.

The next morning, he packs a bag, heads straight for the Hokage Tower, and demands that he's sent on a mission that will last at least a week. He needs some space and some time away from the strangely comfortable arrangement he had settled into with Iruka, who apparently had thought it was hell, all this time.

He doesn't leave a note, this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time Naruto says "y'know," it's _dattebayo._
> 
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	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **tw:** blood, graphic injury, canon-typical violence

It’s not the lack of a goodbye that gets him.

It’s the lack of a note.

Kakashi’s never skipped breakfast before, without leaving a note for Iruka to find — tacked to the fridge, or slid under his door, or stuck to Iruka’s tea pot. He would walk downstairs in the morning to a house that was strangely silent and still, without the sound of paws to greet him, or Kakashi standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand and tea on the counter waiting for him.  But there would always be a sticky note somewhere, in Kakashi’s familiar scrawl — sometimes barely even legible, given the speed at which he wrote it.

Sometimes it told him he’d gone on a mission, and how long the mission would be for — be back tomorrow, a few days, or simply “soon.” Other times, it only said: **on mission** **.** And when he was summoned for a pre-dawn council meeting, and had to skip breakfast altogether, the note usually bore the single kanji for _fire_ — the mark of the Hokage’s office.  

Iruka hadn’t expected how disappointed he would feel when he discovered Kakashi had apparently left without leaving a note behind, after making breakfast for them both, and waiting a little too long — only to realize that he couldn’t feel Kakashi’s chakra signature in the house.

Kakashi had left without telling him, and that was entirely uncharacteristic.

He tells himself it’s nothing. Maybe Kakashi had been called away on an emergency. He is, after all, the next Hokage, and the village’s top ranked jounin — it could have been something quite serious. Maybe he didn’t have time to write a note.

(You should be ashamed at yourself for expecting too much, he tells himself. You’re not even really married. He’s not obligated to tell you when he’s gone.)

But it’s in the mission room, later that day, when Iruka discovers that Kakashi had left the village altogether for a mission. He’ll be gone an entire week, apparently, judging by the S-rank scroll.

Iruka pretends he doesn’t hear the whispers in the hallways when they think he isn’t listening. The honeymoon phase is over, someone says. I heard he requested the mission, says another, and something twists in Iruka’s stomach, as sharp as a blade. It doesn’t add up for Kakashi to suddenly request a mission when he’s been _going_ on missions; it isn’t like he’s completely confined to the village proper, being an active field jounin. The whispers hurt when they shouldn’t, cut into something when there should be nothing to cut into.

It’s hard to swallow after hearing that, like it’s his fault Kakashi had _asked_ to go.

He feels Kakashi’s absence keenly — how large the house suddenly becomes; the way his footsteps echo when he walks through it; the silence of the mornings, when he sits alone at the kitchen table, and tries not to worry too much about him. Tries not to think about where he is, or what he’s doing, or if he’s safe, or injured. Kakashi is strong, he tells himself. There’s nothing to worry about.

(But he can’t stop worrying, even when he tells his mind to stop — and some part of him knows, until he sees Kakashi walking safely through the front door, he won’t be able to turn that part of himself off.)

He lies awake at night and stares at the ceiling and imagines Kakashi, staring up at the stars in a distant country, moonlight reflecting off the parts of him that he doesn’t hide from the world. Knowing how Kakashi’s face would probably look, underneath the mask he never removes when he isn’t home.

And it hits him at that moment — that sometime, in the past few months, this house had somehow become _home_ _,_ when Iruka hadn’t thought that was possible. He remembers standing in front of the gate that first day, and staring up a house he thought would _never_ be home.

But somehow, in the intervening months, as laughter filled up the house, and he met sunrises with Kakashi by his side, and the warmth of the dogs greeting him on some mornings and nights, home found its way to him, and settled into the beams of the house.

Iruka tries not to think of what it means.

Without Kakashi home to fill up the space with himself, and his dogs, and the quiet curve of his mouth when he smiles across the kitchen table at Iruka at dawn, this house is just a house.

And it’s far too large and empty and silent in all the ways Iruka wishes it weren’t, and he’s suddenly angry at himself for wanting, longing for something he knows he’ll never be able to truly have. For not being able to sleep deeply, when he doesn’t feel Kakashi’s chakra signature near him, for not being able to even fully take in a breath, without breathing in his absence.

 

*

 

A week passes.

Iruka startles awake from a dreamless sleep with a soft inhale, when he hears a _thump_ coming from Kakashi’s bedroom.

Normally, it wouldn’t have woken him up — something like a quiet, muffled thump two doors down. But, with how long Kakashi’s been gone, how silent the house has been, the thump in the night is suddenly far too loud, and through the rush of adrenaline and confusion as he sits up and reaches for a kunai, he thinks to himself — who the fuck would dare to break in?

But then he remembers that Kakashi used to come in through his bedroom window.

The chakra signature is so very faint — certainly not the strong, steady current that he’s come to associate with Kakashi.

He gets up quietly, crouching in the shadows, silently making his way down the hallway to Kakashi's door, and presses his ear against the wood, reaching out for the presence beyond.  

On the other side of the door, Kakashi lies in a haphazard pile on his bedroom floor, vaguely aware of the fact that he’s dripping blood and mud all over the floor, and doesn’t have enough chakra to get back up to reset the traps on his window.

Pain sears down his side, which has a nasty gash that’s been steadily oozing blood the entire way back. He should have gone to the hospital, but he hates going to the hospital, where Sakura will have too many questions, and look at him and ask him how the fuck he managed to get himself into such a mess. He’s usually far too careful to be injured quite so badly — to have let someone actually carve into parts of him, to be caught unaware.

And it wasn’t so much that he was unaware, as it was that he was _distracted_ _._ He thought going on a mission would help clear his head, get his shit straight. Thought that if he focused on something that wasn’t Iruka — something that felt like adrenaline and the rush of blood, he’d be able to forget.

(But every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the shape of Iruka’s smile.)  

It made it impossible for him to sleep at night, for him to get the rest he needed to stay sharp and focused. One night turned into three, and then a week of no sleeping at night. Sleeping meant closing his eyes, and closing his eyes meant seeing Iruka, when all Kakashi wanted to do was forget, to carve out the parts of him that were Iruka and leave them behind, in a house that he’d let himself believe had become a home.

He ran on soldier pills to keep himself going — ate more ration bars and food pills to make up for the side-effects when he crashed. Ran himself ragged until he could barely move, and hid himself away in the hollows of trees and the depths of caves, to let exhaustion descend — because it was only then that he could close his eyes and see nothing at all.

And so, it wasn’t all too shocking when the exhaustion caught up with him in the end, and he found himself with a gash down his side.

There is no way he could ever possibly explain any of that to Sakura, or to the Hokage, or anyone else, so he came back to the house instead, with the intent of cleaning himself up.

The only problem is — he can’t seem to pick himself off the floor.

When he tries, all that occurs is pain stabbing through his entire body, ripping a wrecked, painful gasp out of his chest.

The sound of Kakashi's strained voice is enough to make Iruka try the door, the knob twisting violently in his fist. When the lock doesn't budge, he rushes down the hallway to the next room, going out the window and crossing onto Kakashi's window ledge. The smell of blood floods his nostrils, clogging up his throat. Iruka freezes for a heartbeat, eyes wide as he catches a glimpse of the the horror on the floor, eerily dark in the milky moonlight.

Iruka can’t breathe.

He loses his mind for a brief few seconds.

"Oh gods," he hears himself say in a voice that doesn’t belong to him. Something clicks, and Iruka drops into the dim room, blood slick and wet underneath his bare feet, quickly turning on the light. He almost wishes he hadn’t — there is mud and blood all over the floor, seeping into the floorboards, staining it dark. A pool of it is starting to form, where Kakashi lies with his eyes closed, crumpled in front of the window, breathing heavily.

Iruka drops to his knees, and carefully cups Kakashi’s face with his palm, giving him a gentle shake and a pat against the cheek, gauging his reaction. "Kakashi? Can you hear me?"

Pain ricochets down Kakashi’s side, and he winces as he pushes Iruka’s hand aside. He hadn’t meant for Iruka to find him like this, to see him in this state. He hadn’t meant for anyone to see him at all.

He had expected to deal with this alone, to pick up the parts of him that are broken and bleeding, and put himself back together into the shape of something whole.

“Iruka,” he manages to choke out, his voice hoarse and broken, as his eyes swim before him, focusing on Iruka’s face in the garish light that’s suddenly far too bright. Some part of Kakashi, the part that pulls up armor around him like a weapon, tells himself that Iruka shouldn’t be here in his room, getting his hands dirty, with a look in his eyes that’s all sharp edges and fear and something else.

Something Kakashi doesn’t quite recognize.

Kakashi dredges up whatever energy he has left within him and takes a sharp breath, then forces himself up into a seated position with a groan, fighting the wave of vertigo and nausea that hits him immediately. “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you. Go back to bed.”

"Don't be an idiot!" Iruka snaps and reaches forward to push the hitai-ate off Kakashi’s head, gently patting the arm that is the only thing keeping Kakashi from not ending up in a useless heap on the floor. "Lie down. Let me look at you. Please let me help you," Iruka coaxes gently, voice soft, pushing Kakashi's coarse, dirty hair off his face, looking at him with concern he's not even trying to hide.

There is a part of Kakashi that wants to say no.

That wants to tell Iruka to back off, to get the fuck out of his room.

That wants to have the privacy to deal with this on his own, to stitch himself up, or let himself bleed out on the bathroom floor. That doesn’t want this concern or the look in Iruka’s eyes that’s there right now. That wants the safety of distance, of the locked door between them, of not having to be reminded of that expression on Iruka’s face.

But then Iruka touches him again, and whatever resolve Kakashi might have had crumbles like dust. Iruka’s fingers slide down his jaw, and Kakashi shudders, eyes closing, as he fights to not lean into Iruka’s touch.

“You don’t have to feel obligated to do this,” Kakashi protests far too quietly.

"I want to," Iruka insists softly, voice thick with worry and something else that is far too tender. "Let me. Please?"

A tremble goes down the length of Kakashi’s arm as his breath catches in his throat.

He nods, giving into the softness of Iruka’s fingers, the warmth of his hands.

The moment Kakashi goes pliant, Iruka is careful to peel the mask down before he eases him back on the floor.

He quickly unzips the flak jacket, and cuts off the blood-soaked shirt with a single flick of the kunai. When he pulls the fabric aside, he can’t help but flinch at what he sees underneath — Kakashi’s entire torso is a bloody, bruised mess, and there’s a terrible gash down his left side, slowly oozing blood.

Iruka can probably heal it enough to stop the bleeding with some basic field medical ninjutsu —  enough for him to move Kakashi to the bathroom and wash the mess off him, but he'll still need stitches.

Iruka sucks in a deep breath and carefully channels chakra into the wound.

It takes a few minutes of careful concentration, but the bleeding eventually slows down — enough that it should stop completely with stitches and a pressure dressing.

He then proceeds to strip Kakashi the rest of the way, getting rid of his sandals, his weapon holsters, and his utility belt, before he carefully helps slip his arms through the armholes of his flak jacket as he checks him for more wounds. Most of what he finds is superficial — bruises and scratches, nothing too serious.

"I'm going to help you into the shower and clean you up, get this mess off you. Then I'm gonna stitch you up and dress the wounds." Iruka crouches on Kakashi's other side as he cuts through the bindings around his legs, and then moves to cut off his pants and underwear, but Kakashi clamps a hand around his wrist to stop him. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

"Really? It's nothing I haven't seen before! You're feeling shy _now_ _?"_ Iruka murmurs. Kakashi looks hesitant and uncertain — it’s a look that’s achingly vulnerable — something Iruka’s never seen before on Kakashi. Iruka’s expression softens, as he meets Kakashi’s gaze.

He suddenly realizes how terrible all of this must be for Kakashi, who hides behind so many layers. Who never wants anyone to see what lies underneath the surface.

Being injured like this, lying half-naked and bleeding on his bedroom floor, laying bare all of his scars, and all of his wounds to Iruka — it’s probably not what Kakashi wants at all.

The realization sinks within him heavily — Kakashi hadn’t meant for Iruka to find him.

He had intended to do this alone.

“Let me help you,” Iruka insists again, a little softer, when Kakashi’s fingers refuse to uncurl from around his wrist. “You don’t have to do this alone.”  

There’s a long pause of silence that stretches out between them, but then Kakashi lets out a quiet exhale and nods, fingers slipping from Iruka’s wrist, to grant him permission to cut off the blood-soaked pants.

When the soiled fabric comes off, Iruka sucks in a breath at the sight.

There’s a terrible hematoma, starting at the middle of Kakashi’s left thigh, spreading all the way up past his glute and hip. It’s dark and filled with blood under the skin, and terribly swollen. An injury like that can only mean Kakashi had a pretty bad fall. Iruka can’t imagine how Kakashi, who is always so precise in the field, could have been suffered a fall like that.

He pauses as his eyes sweep down to the black boxer briefs that Kakashi has on, then glances up at Kakashi, who is pointedly not looking at him, his gaze fixed to the wall.

Iruka steels himself and cautiously cuts the thin black fabric off and pulls it free from Kakashi’s body, careful to keep his eyes focused on Kakashi’s face.

“On three," Iruka slips an arm under Kakashi's shoulders, braces himself, counts and then lifts, using his entire body weight as support for Kakashi's frame. "I got you."

Kakashi drags in a sharp, pained breath as he manages to get to his feet, swaying immediately against Iruka, who adjusts his grip and catches him before his knees give out.

Without adrenaline, pain is something sharp and present, and everything _aches_ _._ Kakashi doesn’t know how he manages to take a step, and then another. It feels like the bathroom is too far away, and everything spins around him, as his vision strobes violently, the corners of his world growing dark.

By the time they make it to the bathroom, he’s panting harshly, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his jaw. He collapses onto the shower bench with a low groan, eyes slowly sliding shut as he slumps against the cold tile of the wall.

He’s suddenly so exhausted.

Maybe he can sleep for a little while.

“Kakashi? Can you hear me?”

Iruka’s voice breaks through the fog, bright and clear, and far too loud. And when Kakashi opens his eyes, he sees warm brown eyes looking back, wide and scared and frantic. Iruka’s fingers are cupping his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

Kakashi blinks lethargically, as the bathroom comes back into focus, and slowly comes back to himself.

“Are you okay?” Iruka asks, worried. “Maybe we should go to the hospital—”

It’s like a cold slap to the face. Kakashi’s suddenly alert, a sluggish pulse of adrenaline rushing through him. “No,” he declares, as he forces himself back up. “No hospital.”

Iruka’s lips draw into a thin line as he studies him, a frown creased between his brows, and then he nods. “Alright,” he concedes softly. “But if you pass out like that again, I’m calling Sakura.”

“I’m fine,” Kakashi insists, his voice toneless and unreadable.

Iruka sighs, and turns on the water, testing the temperature with a hand. “No, you're not. Just focus on the sound of my voice, as much as you can. I’m going to start with your hair. So! Yesterday at the Academy, you would not believe what happened…”

Warm water sluices over Kakashi, carving into the open ravines on his body, stinging needles stabbing into soft flesh. Kakashi inhales sharply as it sears down his side, gritting his teeth. Iruka’s hands are suddenly in his hair, and there are words still coming out of his mouth, but Kakashi can’t hear them when all he can focus on is the feeling of Iruka’s fingers.

Iruka’s fingers are warm and so gentle, rubbing against his scalp and working up a lather. He kneels between Kakashi’s legs, getting soaked in the process, as he continues to work the dirt and grime off, still talking about his day at the Academy — something about chasing some kids down for attempting to redecorate the halls with colorful paint. His voice cracks just the tiniest bit as he rinses the shampoo from Kakashi’s hair.

Kakashi looks down at him with eyes that are glassy and unfocused, and something tightens in Iruka’s chest, making the words stutter in his throat to a complete stop. He cards his fingers through Kakashi’s hair, pushing the silver strands back and setting the the shower head down as he cups him by the neck, thumb brushing against his pulse, and the side of his face, his other thumb grazing over the scar cutting down his cheek.

“Kakashi?” Iruka asks slowly, kneeling at eye level and peering up at him with worry, when everything in him keeps telling him to just take him to the hospital already.

A tremble goes through the entire length of Kakashi’s body, and he’s suddenly far too intensely aware of Iruka’s presence, the scent of him overwhelming as it cuts through the metallic tang of blood. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this — breathing him in, filling up his lungs with him, like Iruka is the only thing he knows how to breathe.

He finds himself leaning forward, eyes falling shut as he dips his face into Iruka’s hand in a slow, incoherent nuzzle.

“Hey…” Iruka’s voice is soft, as he leans closer and gently coaxes him to focus, one hand gently brushing down the length of his neck to settle on the junction to his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re home now…”

 _Home._ The thought of it is grounding, and Kakashi remembers the feeling of it — the warmth of Iruka’s smile at dawn, the taste of his cooking in his mouth, the sound of his laughter when the ninken piled onto him, knocking him down to the ground.  

Kakashi suddenly can’t remember why he wanted to get away from this at all, how he ever could.

Maybe he’s just dreaming this up. Maybe Iruka isn’t really here.

He raises a wet, trembling hand, fingers dragging against Iruka’s jaw, touching him to confirm if he’s even real.

Iruka raises a hand and slides it over the back of Kakashi’s, pressing it against his neck, right over the pulsepoint, where the thrum of his heart is steady and strong. He keeps Kakashi’s palm there, steadies it when Kakashi is anything but steady himself.

“I’m here,” Iruka tells him. Kakashi’s eyes seem to flash with recognition and something that feels almost like relief.

Iruka gently scrubs him down with a soft towel, soaping the mess off as quickly as he can and resumes his story. There’s a part of him that’s fucking terrified, because Kakashi is delirious, and probably dangerously close to falling into hypovolemic shock from blood loss. Iruka isn’t even sure how he had made it past Konoha’s gates and to the other side of town without collapsing.

He presses closer, fingers going up and around Kakashi’s neck as he tips him forward, taking most of his weight, arms reaching around him to scrub his back. Kakashi falls against him, face dipping into the curve of Iruka’s neck, and he inhales slowly, breathing in his scent where it collects strongest, in the hollow of his throat.

(He deliriously thinks to himself that he could probably stay here forever — breathing Iruka in, and never breathe anything else.)

“I’m sorry…” The apology falls against Iruka’s neck, as Kakashi closes his eyes.

“Hmmm? What for?” Iruka’s voice is light, like there’s nothing to apologize for.

“I never wanted you to see me like this.”

“Like what? Wet and naked, in a shower stall?” Iruka chuckles. “I don’t know, it’s not so bad.”

There’s a soft huff of amusement against his neck, and Iruka smiles, as he slowly runs a towel down the back of Kakashi’s back, scrubbing softly. Kakashi falls quiet against him, his breath even and slow, and hums softly as Iruka drags the towel back up.

Eventually, he finishes and rinses away the suds, then gently sits Kakashi back again.

This time, when Kakashi looks at him, it’s with a little more focus.

Iruka glances down at Kakashi’s chest, and sighs, because this is the hard part.

He starts by carefully rinsing off as much blood and mud as he can with water, and then slowly starts to lather him up, careful to avoid the fresh wound.

"That's going to be another scar," Iruka murmurs, as he carefully rinses the suds off Kakashi's hair and body, a good portion of his yukata wet.

Kakashi could tell Iruka that scars prove that you're alive. That you've survived.

He couldn't imagine being a shinobi with smooth, perfect skin. There's something unnerving about that idea — about taking so much life, and fighting so many wars, with skin that doesn't carry the weight of battle. He doesn't much care if another scar joins the battlefield on his body — the ridges and valleys and deltas of war.

But he's too tired to open his mouth and explain any of this at all. And Iruka's fingers are so soothing and gentle and Kakashi is fighting to just stay conscious and upright as warm water sluices over him and carries away the mud and blood and the last signs of battle from his body.

He grunts some kind of unintelligible response and blinks warm water out of heavy eyes.

Eventually, the water runs clear.

“Thank you,” Kakashi manages to say when the water is turned off. There’s a heaviness to it that doesn’t belong in words so soft. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I’m your husband, aren’t I?” Iruka’s smile is so beautiful that it nearly breaks Kakashi all over again. “And even if I wasn’t… I would do it anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, Iruka learned basic field medical ninjutsu since he works with children, who often can get injured.
> 
> \---  
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	8. Chapter 8

Morning comes with a flash of pain down Kakashi’s side.

He wakes with a sharp inhale, groaning quietly as his eyes flutter open, the ceiling slowly coming back into focus.

Sunlight pours in through the windows, almost blinding.

Kakashi would like nothing more than to bury himself back underneath the covers and go back to sleep, if he can. But, as he moves to tug the covers up, his hand hits something soft and warm. His eyes snap open as he looks down the length of the bed, and discovers Iruka, sound asleep along his bedside, face pillowed on his arms.

What the fuck is Iruka doing here? And how the hell did Kakashi get into his bed, anyway?

He distinctly remembers letting himself back in through the window; remembers collapsing on the floor and thinking to himself that he’d get up later and clean himself up.

Everything that follows is a watercolor blur — but it comes back in small, bright moments of Iruka’s hands on his skin, and concern in his voice, and that look in his eyes that never should have been there at all.

Kakashi had thought it was a dream, thought he made it all up somehow — Iruka caring for him, his fingers in his hair, water sluicing down his skin, the smell of soap mingling with blood. The scent of Iruka in his nose, filling up his lungs until he was bursting with it.

But, staring down at Iruka in the morning light, Kakashi realizes that it had really happened, every moment of it. He hadn’t somehow dreamt it all up. Iruka had picked up the broken pieces of Kakashi off the floor and somehow stitched him back together again.

Kakashi had never meant for Iruka to have to bear witness to the ugly parts of him that he hides from everyone else — the parts of him that are vulnerable, that won’t go to a hospital, that would rather risk bleeding out on his bedroom floor than let someone else stain their hands with his blood. The parts of him that think he doesn’t need anyone else, that doesn’t want to let anyone past the careful armor he’d constructed around himself — this fiction of a man who everyone calls a _hero_ , when that couldn’t be any further from the truth.  

And yet, Iruka picked him up off the ground and went above and beyond the mere call of duty. This isn’t simply what a comrade does for another — Iruka could have just helped Kakashi into the bathroom and stitched up his wound, then left him to handle the rest. He didn’t have to undress him, didn’t have to help him wash the mud off his skin, the blood out of his hair, and make sure he was comfortably in bed, before stitching him up. He didn’t have to watch over him at night, and fall asleep like this by his bedside.

Some part of Kakashi recognizes that this is more than just Iruka wanting their remaining time together to be comfortable. Iruka really does care about him, even though Kakashi really doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it.

A tremble travels down the length of his entire arm as Kakashi raises his hand up and very gingerly, and cautiously, brushes back a strand of dark hair that had fallen into Iruka’s face as he slept. For a long moment, Kakashi watches Iruka as he sleeps — taking in the way his lashes rest curled on his cheeks, the small part of his lips as he breathes, the way sunlight glances off his skin.

He’s beautiful, Kakashi thinks, and his treacherous hand moves to stroke through Iruka’s hair before he catches himself, hovering millimeters away.

And that’s when Iruka’s eyelids flutter a sliver, sleep still glazed over his pupils as the brightness gradually registers.

“Hey…” Iruka croaks, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, as he straightens up from his uncomfortable hunch over the bed, rubbing an eye. And like he hadn’t been asleep, his attention falls back on Kakashi, even if he’s far from awake. His fingers automatically move towards the thawed ice packs he had pressed against Kakashi’s bruised thigh the night before, turning his head away as he tries to stifle a yawn. “How are you feeling?”

Kakashi lets his eyes slide from Iruka’s face down to where he knows the stitches are under the covers. There’s a dull ache there, but it’s not nearly as terrible as it was the previous night; and though he feels like hell, at least he’s alive.

“Well,” he begins after a moment of assessment, “I suppose I could be much worse, but it seems you did a pretty decent job last night.” He pauses for a moment, gaze meeting Iruka’s once more. “Thanks.”

“That’s good to hear,” Iruka says, popping a few knots on his back before he straightens completely. “I’ll be home for the rest of the day.”

“You called out?” Kakashi’s eyes widen slightly at the revelation. “You didn’t have to…”

He knows how important Iruka’s job is to him, how seriously he takes his responsibilities as a teacher. He’s gone to work completely hungover before, just to ensure that his students would continue to receive the best, uninterrupted education possible. For Iruka to call out means that he must have been incredibly worried about Kakashi.

(And though that makes something warm inside of Kakashi flare up, he also can’t help feel a little guilty.)

"I wanted to..." Iruka's voice tapers off before he shakes his head and stands up, taking the thawed ice packs with him. "Besides, when you're so busy serving the village, there’s no one really taking care of you, is there?"

The words are a revelation to Iruka. He realizes what had just tumbled out of his mouth and is suddenly very aware of how he's standing there, in his pants and tank, feeling a little too exposed and embarrassed from speaking to a man about things he never wanted to share. _I never wanted you to see me like this,_ Kakashi had said.

But Iruka did see. All of it.

And now he can't look away.

There's a strange flutter in his stomach as he swallows, something that he shakes away for now because this is not the time and place for this. He has soiled clothes, towels, and armor to clean up, a meal to prepare, and man to take care of.

"I’ve always taken care of myself.” Last night wasn’t the best example of that, though Kakashi’s certain that had Iruka not come along, he somehow would have managed to scrape himself off the floor and stitched himself up. It probably would have been far messier, and he would have probably had to do it between bouts of unconsciousness, but he’s survived far worse than just a nasty gash to his side.

Iruka doesn’t know any of that, though. All he knows is what he saw last night — Kakashi, bleeding out onto the floor.

“Usually, anyway,” Kakashi adds on hastily a moment later, giving Iruka a bit of a reassuring smile. “I don’t die easily, if that’s what you’re worried about. A little scratch isn’t going to kill me.”

"That was not meant to belittle your ability to survive, Kakashi-san. I meant no insult," Iruka says, with gentle caution. "I admit to worrying — _a lot_. Sometimes unreasonably, so. And maybe you could have taken care of yourself last night just fine. It’d be hard and painful — but I could not, in good faith, just leave you there and not help you, turn a blind eye to your suffering when I’m right here. I can’t do that. Not with you.” Iruka looks at the ice packs in his hands, a frown creased between his brows.

Kakashi’s eyes break away from Iruka, traveling over to the spot on the floor where he’d fallen last night. Not a drop of blood or mud to be seen anywhere. Iruka had cleaned that up, too.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up my messes, Iruka.” There’s a heaviness in Kakashi’s voice, falling in between the syllables, as he studies the pristine surface. How late had Iruka stayed up last night to clean it all up? He must have been so exhausted that he couldn’t even make it back to his own bed, just down the hall.

Kakashi’s gaze slowly travels back to meet Iruka’s, and he sighs. “Look... I don’t want to burden you, or be the reason why you have to call out from work.”

The flush that dusts over Iruka’s face is bright and warm, nose wrinkling as he keeps his gaze trained elsewhere, anywhere but Kakashi’s face. "I have the right to take a family emergency related leave when necessary. What happened last night falls under that category.”

A nameless emotion rocks its way through Kakashi's chest. It feels like everything he's tried to bury in blood and sweat, everything he's fought so hard to deny. For a moment, he sees it far too clearly — the life he could have had, one that could have been filled with love and happiness and a lifetime of sunrises with Iruka by his side. But Kakashi doesn't know how to put his hands around Iruka without destroying him like he does everything else, doesn't know how he could ever possibly deserve to even hold him in his arms.

(And until this very moment, Kakashi hadn't known that he still had any ability left to dream. He thought that part of him died long ago, buried underneath a pile of rocks with Obito.)

Though Iruka cares about him, might even think fondly of him, Kakashi knows it'll never be anything more.

He knows Iruka doesn't feel the same way at all.

Iruka had called this thing between them — the situation they found themselves in — _hell_.

Kakashi looks away, his gaze distant, unreadable.

His silence is enough to make something in Iruka go very still, a long and gaping hush like all those nights when the house had been too silent. It hits him like a punch — the realization and implication of his words, that he had just referred to Kakashi as his _family,_ when he is not. Not really. This isn’t even something Kakashi might even want, with how desperately he had tried to hide this imperfect, barely held together side of himself. And here Iruka sits, looking down at the man under the sheets, stripped down of his armor and title, acting like his husband, caring for him beyond what he really should, as a friend or even as a comrade.

He forces himself to look away, and gets up with the ice packs in his hands, and turns towards the door, feeling more displaced than he had the first time he stepped into the house all those weeks ago. The hammer of his heart is his nervousness at the possibility of doing a poor job in treating Kakashi’s wounds and concern for his well being, he tells himself. Nothing more.

Iruka opens his mouth to try to explain, to excuse himself for being so presumptuous and so forward, when he has clearly made Kakashi so uncomfortable. He doesn’t like that look on Kakashi’s face, when he knows how he looks when he laughs, or when he’s enjoying a good book or a warm meal, when something so tender and so wonderfully gentle would find its way into his eyes, and soften that sharp cutting scar on his lip.

Iruka would have even preferred a cold and aloof Kakashi, all harsh lines and icy cutting words, eyes filled with war and violence.

But not _this._

“I'm sorry…” Kakashi suddenly says, and Iruka stops in his tracks. And when he looks at him again, he can see the guilt creasing between Kakashi’s brows and darkening his eyes.

Iruka frowns, confusion tugging at his face.

“What for?” he asks a little too hesitantly.

“I never—” Kakashi's voice breaks, catches roughly in his throat, and he swallows hard, eyes closing. “I never wanted you to see me like this…”

Iruka blinks, and then a quiet understanding dawns. Kakashi doesn't remember everything about the previous night — he must have been too injured. For a moment, Iruka debates pointing out that they’ve already had this conversation — except, that would only make Kakashi wall up further, and feel far too vulnerable.

Iruka smiles instead, shrugging and tilting his head to the side, and says, “Wonderfully naked in bed?”

There's a pause of silence.

And then, Kakashi huffs in amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching. It’s enough to ease some of the tension Iruka has coiling in his gut.

Kakashi looks over to Iruka with a single raised brow. “Really, Iruka-sensei,” he drawls out, and he sounds like himself again, like the Kakashi Iruka has come to know so well. “If you wanted to see me naked, you should have just asked.”

“Is that so?” Iruka’s smile broadens, “Well then, in that case, Kakashi-san, there’s hardly anything to apologize for. I’m getting what I want aren’t I?”

Kakashi's other eyebrow twitches up, and his gaze is suddenly quietly assessing. Iruka feels it like a slow brush over the entire length of him. The blush burns slow, crawling over the collar of his shirt and up to his face. The stare is enough to make Iruka’s fingers tighten around the softened ice packs in his hands, suddenly far too aware of himself all over again.

“Is that all that you want?” The question comes out a little quiet, and it's suddenly too serious — and for a moment, Iruka starts to panic — but then, a slow smirk curls up the scarred corner of Kakashi's mouth.

Iruka huffs a laugh, relief flooding through him, because _this_ Kakashi, he can handle, even if the sudden drum of his heart refuses to die down, because there is something in the way Kakashi looks at him that makes Iruka’s breath hitch in his throat. It lasts a second, before Iruka’s lips thin and he gives Kakashi a pointed look.

“Kakashi-san, behave yourself.” Iruka crosses his arms across his chest.

“Hey, you started it,” Kakashi points out very helpfully.

Iruka can’t stop the roll of his eyes as he heads for the door. “I’m going to go downstairs and fix you something to eat. If I give you permission to read your books, will you be quiet and stop spouting nonsense?”

Kakashi quirks a brow at that. “I wasn’t aware I needed permission to read my books.”

"Clearly, you do,”  Iruka says, stepping out of the room and giving Kakashi some privacy and space he may need.

“I assure you, Iruka-sensei, my books will only help aid my recovery, not hinder it,” Kakashi calls after Iruka.

"We shall see~" Iruka calls back from the end of the hallway, unable to suppress the grin from his face.

 

*

 

They fall back into a more familiar rhythm, as Iruka makes them breakfast, and then lunch.

Though they end up eating in Kakashi's bedroom, instead of the kitchen, there's something comfortable and grounding about sharing meals together again. The feeling of being so alone in a  house that's far too large has completely evaporated with Kakashi reclaiming the spaces he'd left behind. And though Kakashi eats from the tray on his lap with extra pillows propped against his back, still looking tired and bruised and everything Iruka doesn’t want to see on him, it is still the best couple of meals Iruka has had all week.

After lunch, Iruka helps Kakashi dress, when he finally agrees to have Sakura stop by to look at his wounds. They manage to get Kakashi into a pair of boxer briefs and a yukata, and Iruka apologizes softly each time Kakashi cringes, and then digs out a medical mask for him to put on from the medical kit, just as Sakura knocks on the door downstairs.

“Ready?” Iruka asks.

“Is anyone ever really ready for Sakura?” Kakashi deadpans, which really means _yes, let's get it over with._

It turns out, Sakura is very much unimpressed with _both_ of her former senseis and dresses Kakashi down for being so stupid that he didn't go to the hospital — and then dresses down Iruka for enabling him instead of taking him _to_ the hospital. There's a lot of fuss and threats about getting an infection and Kakashi just sheepishly laughs it all off, until Sakura goes out of her way to press down on the nasty hematoma on Kakashi's hip.

“Does this hurt?” she asks innocently, with a dangerous smile.

The pain makes him suck in a harsh gasp and he sees stars, and all he can do is nod, and then Sakura goes on a tirade about how there could have been a dangerous blood clot which could have apparently traveled into his lungs and killed him.

Kakashi wishes she would just shut up and heal him, but she wouldn't be Sakura if she didn't scold him.

Soon, all of his injuries are mostly healed up — there's a new scar on his side, and the bruise is now a greenish yellow and will need a few more days to fade. Sakura prescribes him a course of antibiotics to ward off any infection he might have picked up from the open wound, and then tells Kakashi, in no uncertain terms, that if he ever does anything this stupid again, she will kick his ass to kingdom come.

“Understood,” Kakashi says with an awkward chuckle, both eyes shaped into perfect crescents above his mask.

“And as for you,” Sakura says as she turns to Iruka, green eyes blazing. “You should really know better, Iruka-sensei!!

Iruka, in return, has the decency to actually feel shame and not argue back. He doesn't think he’s been _this_ dressed down since his parents had been alive. He also can’t help but feel proud, watching Sakura work and speak and sound like the talented medic she is now.

“Next time, I will drag him to your doorstep. Got it.” Iruka nods, cheeks hot and scar standing out in the ferocity of his blush. “Even if he’s kicking and screaming. You are right. You hear that, dearest?”

“Try calling me ‘dearest’ again and it will be the last thing you do,” Kakashi says brightly with an equally bright smile and Sakura sputters out a laugh, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Iruka openly rolls eyes. “Sakura-chan, thank you so much for coming on such short notice. How are things at the hospital?” Iruka asks, making small talk with Sakura and using the rare occasion to catch up with her work and progress. It’s a short and pleasant exchange as Iruka walks her out to the door. He thanks her again and this time, without Kakashi watching him, the gratitude comes out a little softer, a little more personal.

It leaves Sakura a little flushed as she smiles too, and bids them good day, warning Iruka to make sure that Kakashi takes it easy.

When Iruka returns to check on Kakashi, he passes the words on. “Sakura says to make sure that you take it easy. Feeling better?”

Kakashi runs a hand down his side. He’s still a little sore, but it’s barely noticeable. “Yeah, good as new.” He gets out of bed and heads for his closet, starting to pull out his uniform. “I have to report to Tsunade-sama, so I’m going out in a bit,” he pauses and meets Iruka’s gaze, the corners of his eyes softening a little. “Don’t worry — I won’t overexert myself.”

“Is that a promise, Kakashi-san?” Iruka asks, tilting his head to the side, not moving to stop him from going.

“I’m just going to the Hokage Tower,” Kakashi says with a quirk of the brow, as he pulls on his pants underneath the yukata. “It’s not like I’m meeting up with Naruto to spar.”

“I distinctly remember a wheelchair race a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t put it past you to not get involved.” Iruka waves a hand, dimples hollowing in amusement.

“Ah, I suppose you have a point,” Kakashi concedes, as he pulls the medical mask off his face and tugs his shirt on, with a disarming smile. “But I don't think I'm in any shape to try and beat Gai at any challenge right now.”

Iruka hums in response, watching Kakashi dress quietly, as he leans against the doorframe. It’s a lingering stare, assessing how he moves with a lot more ease than he did last night. Iruka looks away to stare at his own hands. He can still feel the tremble that had gone through Kakashi’s body, how his fingers shook and brushed down his jaw — the shallow, pained breaths hot against his skin. It’s a little daunting, how that had been just a few hours ago and now, here stands Kakashi, almost as good new, with only bruises and new scars to serve as a memory.

“You know yourself best,” Iruka murmurs, and pushes himself off the doorframe. “It’s good to have you back.”

Kakashi looks up at him from where he'd settled down on the edge of his bed to bind his legs.

There's something soft in his expression, something warm.

“It's good to be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We hope you enjoyed this chapter! We will be updating at least once a week, so be sure to **subscribe** if you'd like to keep up with our new chapter releases. 
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	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY IRUKA-SENSEI~! (One day early!) 
> 
> Art in chapter by [Dri](http://drisrt.tumblr.com/), commissioned by sub_textual.

Iruka isn't sure when it started, except that it did the moment he had started to look beyond his physical attraction for Kakashi.

(Or maybe it was always there from the start.)

He's not sure either, if it was the shared meals, or trying to trick the other to do more chores, the pleasant conversation about little things that define them, arguments about _Icha Icha_ or other shows and books, gossipy drivel, or sometimes, just the casual how was your day. He's not even sure if it had been the nights when he had fallen asleep working in his study, only to find a blanket over his shoulders, or the evenings when he had been so tired that he fell asleep on the couch, feeling the warmth radiating off Kakashi beside him, a steady comfort that lulled him into a deeper and far more comfortable sleep. Those days were the best. Those days were the warmest, and reminded Iruka of what it felt like to be part of something a little more personal.

And the funny thing about it all is that Iruka knows exactly when he had started to pay even more attention to Kakashi. It's hard to forget Kakashi's recklessness, coming home bleeding and in pieces, when he should have gone straight to the hospital.

And before that, he knows exactly what had been the catalyst that made him open his eyes wider and forget that there should have been distance between them. It's so easy for little things like notes and thank yous to become a constant. He didn't even realize it, until it had stopped abruptly.

What Iruka can't figure out is exactly when watching Kakashi had started to become a habit.

(And when he stops being ashamed or embarrassed about it.)

 

*

When Iruka figures it out, it's one hazy morning and a whisper of a dream that may have been real or a figment of his imagination, where he is laughing at the night sky and there are arms around him, lips on his jawline and throat, and the brush of stubble against his skin. Iruka figures it out when he's in the shower, warm spray going cold on his back as he stares with horror at the swirling drain at how he had just jerked off again to the thought of Kakashi's hands on his hips, the curve of his slightly lopsided smile against his ear and the baritone of his voice when he says, _Iruka-sensei_.

It hits Iruka then like a speeding train.

All those nights he had sat across from Kakashi and had watched his fingers work around a pair of chopsticks, how he hums softly while taking a sip of his favorite soup, or how his eyelashes seem to look longer when his gaze is downcast while reading. Iruka remembers the sight of Kakashi stretching arms over his head, yukata parting around the shoulders, with no mask in place, the morning light filtering through the window, bathing over scars and old wounds, just as he whistles and steps aside, pushing the back door open, making way for the clamor and multiple thumps of the pack rushing down the stairs out the door to play in the garden outside.

Iruka remembers that day very well, remembers _staring_ with a look on his face that he hoped hadn't betrayed how his heart had skipped over a hundred beats, or how his lungs had stopped working for several seconds, as he watched Kakashi reach up and rub the back of his head, hair still puffy and tousled from sleep.

"Iruka, the eggs are burning," he had said, blinking in Iruka's direction, head tilted and eyebrow raised.

Iruka remembers cursing and flushing and hearing Kakashi chuckle as he stepped out of the back door.

He had not been able to look him in the eye after that.

 

*

 

You fell because you were looking to fall.

You fell because you are kind.

 

*

 

Iruka puts a stop to it by changing his shift at the mission desk. He puts a stop to it by forcing himself to put physical distance between himself and Kakashi, if only because he must.

He must do this, when all he thinks of is Kakashi. When the thoughts of his tasks during the day somehow ends up with what would Kakashi like for dinner, or oh, I better make sure Kakashi didn't forget the laundry, or I should probably cook ahead of time if I do this graveyard shift, or he'll end up eating those horrid bars all the time again.

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment anyone can bring on themselves.

Iruka stares at the empty mission room as he stifles a yawn, tugging his sweater a little tighter around him as he stares at the winter mist beyond the glass.

He must do this if he wants to forget about something he'll never have.

It's not like the house they share is a shot at forever, right?

It's not even a real marriage!

 

*

 

Sometimes it feels like it is.

And nothing breaks Iruka's heart more than seeing Kakashi waving at him from the doorway on the rare occasion after his change in schedule, the afternoon winter sun flooding the hallway, holding up a hot takeout container of ramen from Ichiraku.

"Lunch?"

"Yes, please. I'm starving!" Iruka says, and wishes, really, really wishes that Kakashi would just stop being so kind to him, that he'd go back to being cold and distant and angry at this arrangement, that he would just stop leaving the notes, stop, stop, _just stop_ — and then Iruka thinks to himself, you're not really my husband, stop acting like you kind of are!

Fate is cruel to those who are kind. Iruka sometimes wonders if it would have been just easier to turn into the thing his parents never wanted him to become.

"Everything alright?" Kakashi asks, a slight crease between his brows under his hitai-ate.

And Iruka blinks at his noodles, at the fact that Kakashi had gotten his favorite ramen, complete with the extra pork and egg slices. He smiles at Kakashi, bright and warm, because gods, he loves him, loves the man under the mask, the man who acts like he doesn't care, when he cares the most. The man who acts like he has iron in his spine, when his heart is about as soft as cotton.

"Of course," Iruka says, and tucks into his noodles with gusto.

He reminds himself that Kakashi sees him as a comrade — a good friend, maybe.

It's never going to happen.

(Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?)

 

*

 

What’s worse is the feeling of your father’s guts as they slipped through your fingers.

What’s worse is the weight of a rock you couldn’t move, and the way Obito looked when he smiled and told you that he would become your eye and live on to see the future for you.

What’s worse is the sound of your name in Rin’s mouth, and the feeling of her heart bursting apart, and the smell of her blood in your nose, which you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

What’s worse is the absence, the way it grows and stretches and hollows out all the spaces inside of you that used to be filled with moments of laughter, and the weight of your sensei’s hand in your hair. That used to be Obito, showing up late and full of excuses, and Rin’s soft hands as she healed your wounds. That used to be your father, who you spent too many years hating for something you didn’t even fully understand until you were looking out at the world through Obito’s eye, trying to live on for all the ones you’d lost, when you didn’t even know what it meant to be alive.

(Because you’ve never known what it meant to live, when all you’ve ever been is the lightning crackling its way through a chest.)

What’s worse is knowing that you are the kind of trash that left his friends behind; the kind of trash who couldn’t hold onto his students, who only ever taught them how to put holes in each other’s bodies with fistfuls of lightning and chakra, instead of teaching them something meaningful; the kind of trash who doesn’t know how to hold onto anyone alive, because you’ve spent your entire life holding onto too many memories that carved out all the parts of you until there was nothing left but too many broken promises and too many ghosts —

— and Obito, reminding you during the war: _You let Rin die._

And yet, he died for you again, anyway.

You are murder, shaped into the body of a man, and what’s worse is that everyone looks at you and calls you a _hero_ , but you really know the truth — you don’t deserve to be alive, let alone deserve to be loved.

So, you don’t deserve Umino Iruka, no matter how much you ache for him.

 

 

*

 

It’s enough to see him smile.

Sometimes, that’s all Kakashi needs.

 

*

 

Iruka isn't even sure why he bothers playing shogi — he's never been particularly good at it. He learned to play the game during Sandaime's time, and after his passing, he's never picked up the habit of trying again. Up until Kakashi.

This isn't the first time they've played shogi and shared drinks between them, but it is the first time they're playing it outside, seated on the engawa with the full moon glowing over their backyard. Iruka pours them both more sake, staring at the board and studying the pieces. There is a plate of senbei crackers and roasted ginkgo nuts for Kakashi and dried fruit for Iruka — another thing Kakashi had brought him from his last mission.

When Kakashi takes another of his lances, Iruka sighs, flushing and rubbing the back of his head, ruffling the half ponytail.

"There is no winning against you, clearly. Remind me again why I agreed to play against you?"

“Shogi,” Kakashi says, with infinite patience, “is a great way to keep your mind sharp.”

It had started a few weeks ago, on a night not so unlike this. Kakashi had decided it would be a fine night to drink a little and play some shogi, and had somehow managed to convince Iruka to try it. While Iruka never did manage to win a single game against him, there was something about Iruka’s tenacity, the way he simply refused to just give up. He approached the shogi board the way he approached teaching — with steel resolve.

Kakashi found that, even though playing shogi with Iruka isn’t challenging like it is with Shikamaru, there is something wonderfully relaxing about just being in his presence and watching him in the moonlight as Iruka intensely considers the board, brow drawn together in concentration, fingers lightly splayed against his chin in thought.

Kakashi sets the captured piece down on his steadily growing pile. “You wouldn’t want to lose your edge, now, would you, Iruka-sensei?”

"Sandaime used to say the exact same thing," Iruka says, with fondness that makes him smile. "But there are other ways to keep your mind sharp too! I am just not particularly very good with this... way. Or I'm out of practice." Iruka blushes, and takes a sip of his sake, looking at Kakashi over the rim of his cup. "Besides, that's what I have you for, right? To practice on."

“Mm,” Kakashi agrees with a convivial hum and a soft smile, as he pops a ginkgo nut into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, and looks over the board. Judging by their current positions, he can probably have Iruka in checkmate within four moves.  “But, I think you’re probably going to need a lot more practice if you ever want to beat me.”

"I am not an idiot to think I can compete with someone who’s Hokage-level caliber," Iruka says, rolling his eyes, studying the board once more, fingers tapping against his knee in thought. "Kakashi-san is so good at everything that I wonder if there's anything you're terrible at."

“Hey, if you say it like that, and give up so easily, then you won’t ever know,” Kakashi points out gently, as he lifts his cup and empties it, then sets it back down. “You shouldn’t ever give up, just because someone might be stronger or smarter or more experienced than you. There’s always a way to win — you just have to figure out your opponent’s weakness.”

"I know yours," Iruka says, and it comes out fairly confidently. He decides on moving his rook and slides it across the board. He leaves the words to hang between them, and only gives Kakashi a short glance before he reaches out to pick up a dried apricot.

“Do you?” Kakashi quirks a brow, and it feels like a challenge.

"It's a guess," Iruka confirms, as he tries not to smile too widely. "But I'm afraid it might be a bit embarrassing. If I say it outloud or demonstrate it outloud, I bet it might just make you blush."

The look Kakashi gives him is very unimpressed. “Iruka-sensei, you may be a man of many talents, but I doubt you have the ability to make me blush.”

“Is that a challenge?” Iruka asks and looks at him head on. Kakashi seems to consider it for a moment, and Iruka can _swear_ that there’s a competitive glint in his eyes.

“What are the stakes?”

"I get three attempts to make you blush. If I lose, I do all your chores for next week and do whatever _you_ want me to do. If I win, you do everything _I_ ask you to do. Seven whole days, in case you must leave the village." Iruka nods. "The blush must be visible. Which I think it will be. You look like you color very easily~" Iruka’s grin is wide, both dimples hollowed and laugh lines visible, as a smirk slowly spreads across Kakashi’s face and he leans back on a hand, casual as can be, and refills their small cups.

“You’re not going to win,” Kakashi tells him, and there’s something so assured about the way he says it that it just makes Iruka determined to wipe that smug smirk right off his face. “But, far be it for me to stop you from trying. I do hope you like doing chores, Sensei, because you’ll be responsible for mine all week.”

“Well. One can only try, hmm?”

Silence passes between them as Iruka turns his attention momentarily towards the board, a hand reaching out for the cup Kakashi had just filled. He takes his time, studying the languid posture, the length of Kakashi’s arm and the curve of his mouth, lingering on the sharp cut of his jaw and the tilt of the faint scar on his lip. Kakashi isn’t even bothered by how Iruka just _looks_ at him, how his gaze rakes over the length of his body, down his arm and the splayed hand on the polished wood. If anything, his smirk grows wider.

“Kakashi-san,” Iruka begins, “I think you’re a very, _very_ attractive man.” He holds Kakashi’s gaze as he fires off his first attempt, heat creeping up his ears. “Incredibly so. It’s hard, sometimes, not to stare.”

“Ah, is that so.” Kakashi somehow manages to sound _bored_ , as he lifts up his cup to his lips and takes a slow sip, his gaze never wavering from Iruka’s. “Tell me more, Iruka-sensei. But I believe the goal was to make me blush, not yourself.”

“You will have to forgive me, Kakashi-san. I am actually quite embarrassed to say such a thing out loud. But my point stands. It doesn’t take much effort to turn you into a fantasy. You don’t make it difficult at all. Have you seen yourself?” Iruka picks up his filled cup, eyes straying over to the book by Kakashi’s side as he tosses the drink back like a shot. “I actually have a favorite. Would you like to hear it?”

“If you’d like to tell me.” Kakashi is as cool as can be, and doesn’t even look the slightest bit uncomfortable as he slides his rook across the board. Much to Iruka’s consternation, Kakashi looks _amused_ — he can see the mirth dancing in his eyes, in the casual tilt of his head, the relaxed slope of his shoulders. “Though, I think you really should probably work on the whole dirty talk thing, because this is pretty tame.”

The delivery is so deadpanned that it is enough to make Iruka suck in a deep breath, and clear his throat, taking the bait as a furious blush starts to spread all over his chest, all the way to the roots of his hair. “I can dirty talk! I’m told I’m quite good at it too!”

“Oh, are you.” Kakashi doesn’t sound convinced, as he refills their cups again. “I’ve heard better dirty talk in a teenage romantic comedy than what you’ve managed here so far. Really, you should probably work on your delivery if your goal is to make me blush.”

“Well I can’t just — not like _this!_ I have to be in the mood for it and trust me, you are not helping, no matter how attractive I think you are.” Iruka’s voice, much to Kakashi’s mounting amusement, goes a little too high.

As if things weren’t already on a terrible downhill slide, Kakashi decides to make things _worse_. His gaze washes over Iruka like a cool tide and he raises a silver brow. Somehow, he manages to make himself look simultaneously disinterested and smug. Iruka can _swear_ that he can see the corner of Kakashi’s mouth twitch, before it smooths out — almost as though the brief moment of amusement wasn’t there at all. “Ah, would it help if you tried to spend a little more effort turning me into a fantasy?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Iruka asks, throwing a hand up and gesturing at the engawa, voice incredibly loud and shrill. “Shall I also crawl over there and sit on your lap while I’m at it?”

To his horror, Kakashi simply sits back, looking rather bemused — he’s definitely trying not to burst out laughing, with the way his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting to not let a grin blossom across his face.

“Why, Iruka- _sensei_ ,” he drawls, and there’s something practically _lewd_ about his delivery, with the way his voice drops a notch and grows huskier, like a lover’s voice in the middle of the night. Iruka can feel it in the very depths of him, and it makes him want to reach forward and plant his fist right on top of Kakashi’s head. “I never knew you were so forward. But, if it’ll help…”

The smug bastard actually has the nerve to pat his lap!  Iruka’s jaw drops and his eye twitches as he sucks in a breath and rises up to his knees and points at that awfully cocky face. His voice _echoes_ through the entire backyard as he snaps, “Where is your shame! Where are your manners! Kakashi-san, I demand you restrain your pervertedness at once! Please exercise some respect! Contain yourself!”

Kakashi simply shrugs and spread his hands, as though he hadn’t just done something completely scandalous. “Hey, I thought you said that you needed to be in the mood. I was just trying to help.”

“Please don’t make fun of me,” Iruka says, placing his fists on his hips.

And then Kakashi just grins — it’s unrestrained, bright, and such a rare sight that Iruka finds himself openly staring, caught completely off guard. He didn’t think it was possible for Kakashi to smile like that — so openly and widely, like he’s actually happy, when everything about him has always been so restrained, and the only smiles Iruka has ever seen have always been muted and faint. Like a beautiful painting left out too long in the sun, with all the color washed out. All you can make out are the shadows left behind, and only guess at what was there before.

There’s something so warm in that smile, in the way Kakashi looks at him — but maybe it’s just the alcohol.

“Ah, but you color so easily,” Kakashi says, as the smile reaches his eyes, which curve into crescents. “It’s very cute.”  

Iruka finds himself unable to breathe, heart galloping under his rib cage at Kakashi’s impossible smile, the way it only seems to keep _growing_. It’s almost unfair, the kind of hold that Kakashi has on him. But Iruka knows that these moments — these quiet nights and rare smiles like the one directed at him now — won’t last forever. These moments are probably the ones he’ll miss the most, at the end of their “marriage.”

Iruka also realizes, as Kakashi continues to look at him with that grin on his face, that it is quite possible to turn even redder, much to his irritation. He is supposed to be winning this challenge, not losing it so terribly!

“Cute my ass,” Iruka mutters, sitting himself back down and refilling both their cups, huffing a little bit as he tries to calm the mad pound of his heart and quell the butterflies in his stomach. “If you think calling me cute will win you any favors, Kakashi-san, you’re gonna have to do a whole lot better than that. Best if you just shut your mouth.”

“What made you think I was trying to win your favor?” Kakashi asks, as he polishes off another cup of sake. “I thought this was a challenge. So far, you’re losing terribly.”

“You’re right. I got distracted for a moment, but you’re right. This is about you, not about me.” Iruka pours himself another cup and tosses it back, setting the cup down sharply, holding Kakashi’s gaze once more, and ignoring that cocky arch of his eyebrow. “I will tell you what I fantasize about. In fact, I’ll even perform the _entire_ damn thing for you.” His eyes swoop back down to the book by Kakashi’s side. “That’s volume three, isn’t it?” Iruka asks, tilting his chin towards the book and then casually reaching over to pick it up, and for a moment, he can swear that Kakashi’s shoulders tense, a flash of nervousness dancing across his gaze.

It’s gone when he blinks, and Kakashi glances down at the book, then back up at Iruka. “Really,” he says, very dryly, as though he’s unimpressed. “You’re going to be unoriginal and cheat. I’m disappointed, Iruka-sensei. I thought you had more creativity.”

“Well, Kakashi-san, I can’t show you _all_ my moves. If you want to know how creative I am, this is not the way to do it. Besides, didn’t you think I was a prude?” Iruka asks as he leafs through the dog eared pages, as though looking for a part he knows quite well. “Ah, here it is! Now this is a lot of fun! I recommend you actually try it!” Iruka pauses and looks up then. “Shall I read it to you?”

“I’m fairly certain I already know all the words by heart,” Kakashi says, and his tongue flashes out between his lips, before they press into a thin line — and Iruka presses his lips together, trying to smother the grin, because he can tell. _Kakashi is nervous_.  

Kakashi continues, “You really should exercise some originality. I don’t think reading from a book is a good demonstration of your ability to talk dirty.”

“Well then, since you know this by heart, it shouldn’t be an issue. You probably won’t blush, but I have two guesses left. So! Let’s see…” Iruka’s gaze skims over the page, clears his throat and begin to read from the book. It is easily the raunchiest scene in the entire volume and Iruka’s voice drops down to something sultry, syllables rolling past his lips like honey, soft breathless and wanton throaty moans punctuating dialogue. And any shred of smugness completely evaporates from Kakashi’s expression, all the color slowly draining out of his face. “Oh gods, oh gods, _Junko_ , Akira moans,” Iruka reads, “staring up at the starry skies and thinking how she must be heaven, to have the lips of such an angel wrapped around his pulsing member.”  

Over the edge of the book, Iruka can see Kakashi swallowing uncomfortably, as he raises a hand and runs it over the lower half of his face, eyes sliding off Iruka into the night.

“He must be so lucky, so blessed, to feel the wet caress of such plush, beautiful petals. Junko is a goddess, her lips as plump as summer peaches, the heavenly pillows of her bosom bouncing with each bob of her head along Akira’s long,” Iruka flicks his gaze up, and punctuates each syllable with soft breaths, “ _thick_ , love stick.”

It’s clear that the words are affecting Kakashi the way Iruka knew they would — Kakashi is admirably fighting it, but his discomfort is evident, in the way his breathing slightly hitches, how he tries very hard to maintain his composure by propping his elbow up on his knee and dipping the lower half of his face behind the curtain of his hand. Iruka can’t see his mouth anymore, but he’s certain it’s most likely drawn into a tight line.

“Oh, Akira-san, you feel so good in my mouth, _mnnnnnn_ ,” Iruka _moans_ , and is glad that he doesn’t choke off at the end when he watches how Kakashi’s shoulders stiffen, sweat glistening on his forehead as his eyes darken, and a tremble goes through his arm. “You are so hard, and so big! Come for me, Akira-san, give me all of your milk, _hmnnnngh!”_ Iruka pauses, turning a page, his gaze lingering on Kakashi’s face for a brief moment, before he plows through the final few paragraphs.

Iruka’s words quicken as the climax approaches, dragging out the syllables as he reads out Junko sucking Akira off. “He grabs her by the hair, his hips jerking into the wondrous love cave that is her mouth, watching as his family jewels slap against her soft chin. Ah, ahh _, Junko-san_ , Akira cries out, closing his eyes and thanking the gods above. I’m so close, _ahhhh_ ,” he moans throatily, and Kakashi drags in a shuddering breath — and as Iruka watches, with a triumphant grin, a flush spreads above the edge of his hand, color dotting high on his cheeks as he stares at a fixed point in the darkened garden, a beat of sweat running down the side of his temple.

“Junko gives his large and beautiful strong orbs a squeeze. Come for me, Akira-san, come for me! _Mnn!_ Akira climaxes with a shout, spilling thick, hot, silky ribbons of the sweetest nectar upon Junko’s lips, moaning as she licks his juicy meat clean, purring like a satisfied kitten. Akira-san, you taste so, so good, _ahhhnn_ ~”

Iruka shuts the book with a sharp clap, and crawls over to Kakashi, peering right at his face as he pulls Kakashi’s hand away from his mouth. He looks him right in the eye as his smile spreads wider and wider over his face, dimples hollowing. “Ka-ka-shi- _san_ ,” Iruka says, voice still sultry, like he’s still reading. “I win.”

Iruka can practically _feel_ the heat emanating off Kakashi’s face. He looks shocked, like he can’t believe what just happened. Without his hand shielding half his face, Iruka can see just how flushed Kakashi had become — the color almost reaches his temples, brushing clear down his neck, where it disappears somewhere under the cowl of his mask. Even in the dim light, Iruka can tell how red Kakashi’s neck is, which can only mean that the blush keeps going down — probably covering his chest.

But it’s the look in his eyes that Iruka didn’t quite expect. He had thought maybe Kakashi would’ve been embarrassed and uncomfortable, and that he would read defeat in his gaze. Instead, Kakashi’s eyes are as dark as the night sky above and filled with a kind of heat that shouldn’t be there at all. It hits Iruka right below the waistline, and he sucks in a soft breath, the cheeky grin sliding off his face when he realizes that Kakashi isn’t just uncomfortable — he’s _aroused._

The realization is so shocking that Iruka’s eyes snap off Kakashi’s face and drop down — which ends up being the single greatest mistake he could have made, because even with the shadows of night spilling across his lap, there is a fucking _bulge_ in Kakashi’s pants. The sight makes Iruka flush and pull back abruptly, looking away, suddenly too aware of himself and the man sitting uncomfortably across from him.

Kakashi reaches out and picks up the entire decanter of sake, then takes a long drink before setting it down roughly and wiping beads of moisture off his upper lip. “Well,” he says, and his voice is thick, strained, his eyes trained on the shogi board before them, like if he stares at it hard enough maybe he can pretend the past five minutes never happened. “I was not expecting that,” he admits. “I’ve been completely defeated. It’s your win, Iruka-sensei.”

“You gave excellent advice. Never give up and figure out your opponent’s weakness, right?” Iruka says and adjusts himself to stand. “Seven days, Kakashi-san. Don’t forget. You can start by cleaning up before bed. Make sure to do it properly. I don’t like being disappointed.”

There must be something about the way he said it, because there’s no missing the tension that goes through Kakashi’s entire frame, the audible hitch in his breath, the way he just can’t seem to look at Iruka as he makes a noncommittal sound of agreement. It inspires a sudden burst of boldness, and Iruka reaches forward to tilt Kakashi’s chin up gently, forcing Kakashi to look up at him, as Iruka cants his head to the side. “You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you, Kakashi-san?”

To his surprise, Kakashi flushes _darker_ as his eyes snap onto Iruka, wide, like he can’t believe Iruka actually had the audacity. He raises a hand and wraps his fingers around Iruka’s wrist, and Iruka’s almost certain that he’s about to pull his hand away — but instead, all Kakashi does is stroke his thumb slowly down the tender underbelly of his wrist, and Iruka feels heat curl in his stomach at the soft caress.

And he gives Iruka a faint smile and says, “I wouldn’t dare.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** NSFW
> 
>  _Soundtrack:_ [Dangerous Night - Thirty Seconds to Mars (Rock Cover w/Jared Leto)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKReTyBN-l4)

The thing about desire is that it’s dangerous.

It burns like fire and strikes like lightning on a clear day —  unexpected, sudden, shocking. It’s a quiet, hidden thing that unleashes itself without any preamble or warning, a hunger you didn’t even know you had. It starts with a whisper, somewhere deep inside, and turns into a roar you can’t deny, until it’s all you can feel — hunger, hot and furious and so violent, it shakes you apart at your foundations. Makes you come undone.

_You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you, Kakashi-san?_

He never saw it coming, couldn’t have known, the effect Iruka would have on him — the way his voice reached into him like stroking fingers around the very root of him. And it was like a tripwire going off, a spark that ignited a fire that refused to go out, which only grew with intensity after Iruka’s footsteps faded in the distance, leaving Kakashi to clean up.

_Make sure to do it properly._

Cleaning up should’ve been something Kakashi didn’t particularly enjoy, should’ve been a reminder that he’d completely lost a challenge he shouldn’t have lost at all. It should’ve felt like defeat, but instead it felt like surrender, and all Kakashi could feel was the lightning strike. And he thought to himself, as he dried the dishes and put them away and wiped down the counters, with the weight of his arousal hanging heavy in his pants, that he was losing his mind.

No matter how hard he tried to fight it, no matter how much he tried to block it out of his mind, he just couldn’t stop hearing the way Iruka sounded, couldn’t unhear his moans. And by the time he finishes cleaning and makes it back to the safety of his room, his arousal is no longer a whisper — it’s a roar.

“Fuck,” Kakashi whispers, as he locks his door behind him with trembling fingers, slumping against the wood surface. Every part of him feels like he’s on fire, and he’s burning, dizzy with desire; so hard, it’s painful, the way his cock strains against the seams of his pants. He doesn’t even try to make it to his bed before he undoes the opening of his pants. And when he reaches in past the folds of fabric and wraps his fingers around himself to pull his cock free, all he can do is groan, as a hot shudder travels through the entire length of him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that this is wrong. Knows he shouldn’t be doing this, not when Iruka is two doors down. But he can’t stop the way his fingers wrap around the root of his cock to squeeze _just so,_  can’t resist the urge to stroke up to the ruddy, swollen tip, running the rough pads of his fingers over the dripping slit with a low moan.

_You feel so good in my mouth._

He can’t remember the last time he’s wanted anyone so much, can’t remember the last time he’s felt this kind of hunger. Need courses like electricity through his blood and Kakashi gasps as his fingers pump, squeezing around his pulsing cock as his other hand travels up his body, gliding over his chest and sliding past his jaw, and then he plunges two long fingers past his lips, and the feeling isn’t unlike having Iruka in his mouth.

All he can feel inside of him is Iruka’s voice, and all he can see when he closes his eyes is himself, kneeling before Iruka like it’s the only thing he’s ever known. And in this moment, as his knees hit his bedroom floor, he feels raw and vulnerable and hungry in a way he hasn’t been in a long, long time. In his mind, Iruka grips him by the chin and forces his mouth open and all Kakashi can do is moan, as hard, velvety heat fills up his mouth and throat. He needs to taste him, wants to know what he looks like when he comes, wants to please him, to satisfy him the best way he can  — _you wouldn’t disappoint me, would you, Kakashi-san._

(Kakashi wouldn’t dare.)

He makes a mess of it, thick saliva dripping past his fingers — he imagines it’s Iruka, the thick product of his need smearing all over his mouth and running down his chin and throat. _Make sure to do it properly,_ Iruka commands, and it’s all Kakashi can do to surrender, to let himself be roughly used like he was made for sucking cock. He gasps around what fills him as his fingers stroke himself until he’s slick and dripping, and all he can hear are Iruka’s moans echoing in his mind and the lewd, wet sound of each stroke as he thrusts into his hand — and all he sees is himself on his knees with Iruka pressing him further down on his dick.

Iruka’s eyes burn as they look down on him as he holds him by the hair and fucks into his mouth and down his throat (and Kakashi plunges his fingers faster, deeper, and presses his tongue down as he roughly sucks around the circumference of what fills him up) and he sucks in a harsh, desperate breath around the cock down his throat, and moans as his own dick pulses in his hand.

 _Come for me_ _,_ Iruka commands, and there’s an earthquake inside of Kakashi that breaks him apart, and for a moment he forgets where he is, forgets that this is wrong, forgets that he shouldn’t be on his knees in his bedroom with two fingers in his mouth and a hand around his cock, when all he can see is Iruka fucking his mouth and filling him up, and all he can feel is pleasure building up inside of him, so intense and hot and blinding that it makes his world stop.

 _I’m so close_ _,_ Iruka moans and Kakashi trembles as he pictures the way it might look — color riding high on Iruka’s cheeks, his head falling back as his eyes close. Iruka’s mouth drops open with a hoarse gasp as his hips snap forward and he plunges all the way down Kakashi’s throat — and everything explodes inside of Kakashi as a broken cry strangles itself in his throat, choked off by his own fingers, as hot, thick cum gushes over his stroking hand and splatters all over his clothes. It’s so intense that it splashes against his jaw, and all Kakashi can do is _shake_. His fingers drop out of his mouth with a wet pop and gasp, and he switches hands, smearing cum over his lips as he plunges back in and _sucks_ — and imagines it’s Iruka filling up his mouth — as his other hand comes down to finish milking his cock, squeezing out every last drop until he’s spent.

It’s the strongest orgasm he’s had in months.

And when it’s over, all he can do is slump back against the door as his fingers slip from his mouth, dragging a trail of cum and saliva down his chin, and he tries to catch his breath.

As he stares at the ceiling, dazed and exhausted and confused, all he can do is think to himself that he’s completely, utterly fucked.

(He can’t remember the last time he’s wanted someone this badly, and doesn’t even feel guilty about what he’s just done.)

 

 

*

 

Something like muted shock wraps around Iruka’s neck like a collar, as he stands there with a palm pressing flat against Kakashi’s door.  
  
He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move a muscle, until he realizes that silence has settled in the small space between himself and Kakashi, the door separating him from what he knows is the lingering high of what had sounded like a very powerful orgasm. Iruka isn’t sure what he hates more about this entire situation — the fact that he had remembered to let Kakashi know that he won’t be in tomorrow night for dinner, or the fact that he had stood there, with the intention to knock, except his fist had frozen before he could, when he heard the unmistakable squelching sounds of flesh between fist, wet and quick, punctuated by throaty moans that Iruka _never_ thought he’d hear coming from Kakashi.  
  
The silence makes Iruka jerk away from door, as common sense, and a flush that goes all the way down to his belly, pooling like a raging fire, finally settles. It leaves him stiff along the length of his spine, a hand covering his mouth, to silence the shamed gasp threatening to rip past his lips.  
  
It’s not his business what Kakashi does in his spare time, behind locked doors, in the shadows of the night.  
  
Iruka stumbles back one step, then another, until his back collides with the wall, shoulder blades pressing into surface. Iruka can still hear it — the sound of Kakashi’s climax, echoing in his ears, over and over again.  
  
Iruka swiftly removes himself from the hallway, shutting his bedroom door behind him with what he hopes is a quiet _click_ . The last thing he wants is for Kakashi to know that he’s some kind of pervert who enjoys listening in during the most intimate moments.  
  
Iruka wishes he could forget what Kakashi sounds like. He wishes that it doesn’t come back to him at all. But as he closes his eyes and wakes up the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee, and the sight of Kakashi’s back as he pours two mugs, Iruka surprises himself when he doesn’t flinch or shy away from looking at Kakashi. There is something powerful in knowing someone’s weakness — someone like Kakashi, who is the next Hokage candidate, a hero, a legend. To know a legend’s weakness — Iruka can’t deny that it makes him feel heady with this secret knowledge.  
  
“Slept okay?” Iruka asks, holding Kakashi’s gaze over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip, making a throaty noise of approval. Kakashi got his coffee right.  
  
“Mmn,” Kakashi hums in response and takes a sip from his cup, but there’s something about the way his gaze lingers on Iruka, before flickering away that makes Iruka _wonder._ It takes all his willpower for his face to not split into a grin, tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth.

“Good to hear,” Iruka murmurs, his gaze raking down the length of Kakashi’s frame, lingering around his throat and the curve of his neck, at the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his coffee. And he wonders if Kakashi is the type to come with his neck arched to the sky, or does he hide his needy, wanton expression from the world, face burning with shame? After all, a man who sounds like _that_ when he comes must have thoughts fueled by only the darkest and filthiest of desires, a searing secret only let loose behind locked doors.

“I won’t be home for dinner. Don’t wait up, Kakashi- _san~”_ Iruka says softly with a knowing smile as he turns and walks away.

 

*

 

It turns out that losing that bet to Iruka was the biggest mistake Kakashi could have made.

And it has nothing to do with the punishment — having to do all of the cooking and the cleaning in the house, and running the occasional errand for Iruka isn’t really that big of a deal. But the way it makes him feel — well, that’s something else entirely. There’s something charged in the air between them, and it’s somehow made its way into even the simplest of tasks.

Kakashi can’t wipe down the counters or wash the dishes without feeling the heat of Iruka’s gaze on him, washing over him endlessly. He can’t make a meal and share it with Iruka, without noticing the way Iruka makes throaty, appreciative sounds when he approves of something Kakashi’s made, or how he sighs with pleasure and smiles after taking a sip of his favorite tea. He can’t sweep the fucking floors without being hyper aware of Iruka’s presence at the kitchen table, head bowed over a stack of papers, making quiet sounds of disapproval.

It’s like every single chore, even the most mundane, has somehow become a gateway into everything Kakashi would rather forget. Because this thing inside of him full of hunger, that tells him he wants what he can’t have, slowly drives him to the edge of madness each day, until he locks himself in his room after completing all his chores at the end of the night, and shamefully takes the edge off the only way he can.

(And every time he comes, he tells himself it’s the last time, until he wakes up in the morning and it starts all over again.)

Luckily, Iruka doesn’t ask him for much — just a bowl of ramen one night, and a basketful of laundry on the third day.

Every day, Kakashi runs through his list of chores — breakfast in the morning, cleaning in the afternoon. Dinner on the table just when Iruka’s walking in through the door. Really, he hates this, having to do any of it at all. And it certainly doesn’t help when he has to straighten Iruka’s room. Every time he walks in the door, all he can smell is Iruka in the air — orange and cinnamon and something sweet, like sun-warmed skin in summer, and it’s all Kakashi can do to not lose his mind breathing him in.

He spends most of his waking hours training or attending council meetings ahead of his Hokage appointment, and when he’s at home, he does his best to remain detached and aloof, when he’s not completing chores. He hides himself away behind his mask and colorful books, and comes up with excuses for why he won’t join Iruka for tea, and tells himself that this, too, will pass. Eventually he’ll forget what it was about Iruka that ignited something inside him that never should have been there at all.

(Maybe after this week, they can go back to just being friends, and Kakashi can pretend this never happened at all.)

On the sixth night, Kakashi dries the last of the dishes, and puts them away, then wipes down the counters, and sets a kettle on for tea. He makes Iruka a cup of his favorite, and then brings it to the kitchen table, where Iruka sits, grading a stack of papers a foot high, a pinch between his brows.

“Here,” Kakashi says, as he sets the cup down, next to the plate of oranges he’d set out for Iruka earlier. And like every night since this all started, he asks, “Do you need anything else, before I go to bed?”  

"Mnnn," Iruka hums in response, craning his neck back and closing his eyes to ease what looks like discomfort around his neck. Kakashi thinks he looks exhausted, a little worn down around the edges. He had mentioned being in the middle of midterms, something about it being the busiest week during the school year. Iruka is normally more put together than he currently is, with his yukata hanging a little loosely on his shoulders, hair down and still damp from his shower. He hadn't even said a word when he came home, dumping his grading work by the floor and wordlessly heading upstairs to wash up before dinner, grumbling the entire way.

He hasn’t been sleeping either — Kakashi woke up yesterday morning to find him, still working, at the kitchen table.

And while he seemed to be relatively pacified by the grilled fish Kakashi had made for dinner — something Iruka had once called 'his favorite' — it does nothing to ease the lines and slightly visible bags under his eyes.

“Are you good with your hands?” Iruka asks, flinching as he adjusts himself on his chair, setting his pen down and reaching back to press a palm against the side of his neck as he picks up the cup of tea, and hums as he takes a pleased sip.

Kakashi blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

"I've got this damn ache right here,” Iruka explains, “and I can't seem—" he rubs the side of his neck once more, frustration evident on his face. "Do you think you could apply pressure? It'll probably go away quicker that way."

Iruka looks at him, expectant, head tilted to one side. There’s something about that look and the way he asks that makes Kakashi drop his guard a little, that makes him feel a little sympathetic. He acquiesces with a nod and straightens up, then lets his hand fall on Iruka’s shoulder lightly. One hand brushes aside Iruka’s hair to reveal his neck, then he reaches up and lightly tugs Iruka’s head to the side, to pull his neck taut, and then he runs his thumb from the base of his skull down the tight curve, applying just enough pressure.

Iruka inhales sharply, the breath audible, goosebumps breaking over his skin, tendons tightening around his neck. From where he stands, Kakashi can see the way Iruka’s brow furrows as he digs his thumb into the center of what feels like a very tight knot. Iruka’s teeth flash briefly before he exhales slowly, lips parting and eyelids fluttering open for a moment, only to close once more, just as a deep, throaty groan rolls past his lips. And then he murmurs, “Kakashi…” as he grits his teeth, brows pinching together once more — and in that moment, Kakashi realizes that he never should’ve agreed to this.

The way Iruka looks and sounds is enough to send a sharp pulse of _want_ straight through his body, and Kakashi tenses as he closes his eyes and slowly lets out a very controlled exhale. This isn’t the way this should have gone — all he was supposed to do was help Iruka work out a single knot. But instead, he’s standing here, trying his best to ignore the heat inside of him that shouldn’t be there at all.

Iruka’s neck is a mess of knots, and Kakashi knows that tension flows into his shoulders and down his back, and he’s probably in a great deal of pain.

But Kakashi had agreed to release the knot in his neck, and so he shoves down the urge to stop and walk away, and simply applies even more pressure. He slowly begins gliding his thumb over the tight mass, bracing himself for what he knows is most likely coming next. Iruka goes very still for a moment before he releases another shaky breath, reaching back with a hand to grab hold of Kakashi's fingers to slide them a little lower, pressing them down against bare skin, the collar of his yukata drooping low with the gesture. It is a silent instruction to knead at a particular spot that makes Iruka sit with his shoulder slightly elevated in an almost half-shrug.

"Right there..." Iruka murmurs, almost _breathless,_ soft and quiet in the silent space of their kitchen. "A little harder…” he says, and everything in Kakashi _stops,_ as heat twists through him and his arousal flares alive. He suddenly realizes that he can’t keep on doing this — can’t keep touching Iruka in this way, if this is how Iruka is going to sound.

He decides the best way to handle this is to give Iruka a rather unpleasant dose of pain, and instead of gliding his fingers over tense muscle, he digs down hard, instead.

The pain must have been so sharp that Iruka jerks and a _cry_ tears past his throat, hands coming to grip the edges of the kitchen table, knuckles going bone white. With Kakashi's hand holding Iruka's head firmly in place, his back arches slightly against the seat, teeth gritting as his cry tapers off to a deeply pained groan that travels through Kakashi with a hot shudder that rolls all the way down his spine. And in that moment, Kakashi realizes that this has gone too far — and he lets go of Iruka entirely, heart hammering in his chest, letting Iruka tip forward to lean his head down against a folded arm on the table, his other hand pressing against his shoulder and neck.

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi says, and it comes out quiet, but there’s something strained in the syllables. He swallows hard, and takes a step back, as he tries to keep his breath controlled.

It occurs to him then, that he might have actually hurt Iruka — with the way Iruka cradles his shoulder. That hadn’t been his intention — and he certainly hopes it isn’t the case. “Did I hurt you?”

Iruka turns to look at him over the curve of his shoulder, breathing slow and measured and lashes lowered, pinch still present between his eyebrows.

"I'm alright, it's a bad knot,” Iruka says. “I don't think I can work like this. You're going to have rub the rest out of the way, please.” He carefully stands from his chair to flip it the other way.

Kakashi wants to tell him no, wants to say that Iruka should just use his foam roller, as Iruka straddles the chair and looks over his other shoulder expectantly.

Kakashi stares at Iruka for a moment, and sighs.

He knows he can’t just leave Iruka like this, not on a night when he has a stack of papers to grade a mile high.

“Your traps are tight,” Kakashi says after a tense moment. “It’s probably because of the way you’ve been sitting, and not taking breaks. I think you can probably use some heat on your shoulder before we continue.”

It doesn’t take long for Kakashi to fetch a bottle of lotion and a towel to create a hot compress using the remaining water in the kettle. He tells himself that Iruka is just a comrade, and helping him work out some knots isn’t any different than what he’s done for countless others, as he has Iruka slip his yukata further down and applies the compress to the affected area. Iruka sighs with relief when the heat hits him, and Kakashi can’t help but feel a little guilty that he’d made things much worse.

“I understand that you have a lot of papers to get through,” Kakashi says, as he lets the hot compress do its work. “But you really need to take breaks and stretch or foam roll, or you’ll keep ending up like this.”

Iruka makes a humming noise in agreement, leaning a little heavily on the chair’s backrest, goosebumps spreading all the way down the length of his curved spine.

"I guess it's a good thing that I still have you tonight and tomorrow night. You could just make all the pain go away, right?" Iruka says, looking over his shoulder and grin hidden behind the curve.

“Maa, I don’t know about _all_ the pain,” Kakashi says with a bit of a wry smile. “You’ll probably still be sore tomorrow. It usually gets worse, before it gets better.”

"Well, best work your magic then, Kakashi-san. My body is in your hands. I’m all yours," Iruka says this rather jovially, as he gives him one last look and turns his head forward, and Kakashi tries his best to pretend that he didn’t hear it at all. He knows that Iruka doesn’t mean anything by it, that he just wants Kakashi to help him work the pain out of his shoulders. He isn’t really offering up his body, or anything other than a pair of tight shoulders and exhaustion twisting down his spine.

He’s just a comrade, Kakashi reminds himself, as he removes the compress from Iruka’s aching shoulder, and then reaches for the bottle of lotion on the table, and uncaps it, dipping his fingers in. “You’ll need to breathe through the pain instead of tensing up, no matter how much it hurts,” Kakashi instructs him, as he starts to warm up the lotion between his palms, his voice not unlike the way he sounds when he lays out a mission plan. “And if it’s too much, you need to tell me. Got it?”

Iruka leans forward, shoulders lifting as he gives them one good roll and takes a deep and measuring breath. “Alright,” comes the soft response, just as he tips his head forward to rest against the curved back of the chair, already breathing through the stiff discomfort. “Although, would it be easier for you if I were in bed? Or on the couch?”

“No,” Kakashi replies a little too quickly. The thought of having Iruka beneath him with Kakashi straddled across his legs, making all of those delicious noises he just can’t seem to _stop_ making would be far too much for Kakashi to bear. He doesn’t know how he’d be able to resist the urge to pull his mask down and press kisses down Iruka’s spine — or if he’d be able to hide the inevitable arousal he knows he won’t be able to fight. He clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “This is a better angle.”

Iruka just hums in response, and Kakashi takes a breath before he gets down to work. He slowly smooths his hands down the tight curve of Iruka’s neck, spreading warmed lotion across the swell of his trapezius before pressing his thumbs down into the tight muscle, gliding back up. It’s slow and steady, the way his hands work out the knots. Iruka’s breaths match the rhythm and intensity of his strokes. He breathes in, slow and deep at first, but when Kakashi starts to increase the pressure, when he begins to knead the stubborn knot with deeper glides of his fingers, those deep breaths taper into a whimper.

Kakashi can feel it under his palms, how Iruka’s entire body suddenly goes tense, how the whimper reverberates throughout his entire frame. Iruka’s forehead presses against the grain of the wooden chair frame when he rides out a firm press right in the center of the stiff knot, jaw going slack. And when Kakashi presses down and slowly grinds through the knot, that whimper grows into a deep, throaty, unbridled moan. The sound of it echoes throughout the space of their kitchen, and straight to Kakashi’s cock, and all he can do is wonder again why the fuck he agreed to this.  
  
But he can’t seem to stop staring down at the tense line of Iruka’s spine, the way his eyes scrunch tight when he turns his head to the side, hand seeking purchase on the edge of the table and holding on tight. Or how Iruka’s breath hitches whenever Kakashi’s fingers shift. Kakashi’s eyes follow the line of Iruka’s jaw to his trembling lips — and then Iruka sinks his teeth down on the flushed curve, and the sight of it alone is enough to nearly make Kakashi’s resolve completely crumble.  
  
“Lower,” Iruka demands, head turning to accommodate Kakashi’s fingers in their downwards stroke, his back arching into Kakashi’s touch. “ _Mnnn_ _,_ you’re so good...”

This is going to be the death of him, Kakashi thinks helplessly, as heat travels through the entire length of his body, settling at the pit of his stomach before curling back up into his chest like rising smoke. He feels choked by it, until all he can do is exhale a trembling breath that sounds far too loud in his ears. He strokes as commanded, fingers gliding smoothly over skin until they reach the raised, gnarled borders of the scar Mizuki had left behind.

(He wants to memorize the borders, map the terrain of broken skin. He wants to pull his mask down and press his tongue into the crevices and valleys, and let his teeth graze over all the jagged edges of him.)

When his fingers press against the damaged tissue, Iruka goes very still and quiet under Kakashi’s hands, breath hitching as his entire body stiffens, pulled taut like a bowstring. It doesn’t last more than a few seconds before he relaxes once more, a shuddering breath leaving parted lips. The flush rising high on Iruka’s cheeks almost makes Kakashi pause in his ministrations. It crawls up somewhere from Iruka’s chest all the way up to his face, spreading warmth all over his shoulders and down the length of his neck.  
  
“If I had known you were this good,” Iruka murmurs breathlessly, “I would’ve come up with ways to always have your hands on me. Man of many talents indeed...” He almost sounds _wrecked_ with how boneless and relaxed he is, the words throaty and trembling with a soft moan, and Kakashi wonders, as he stares down at him, at the blush spreading over his shoulders, if he’s just really enjoying this massage, or if there’s more to Iruka’s words.

(He’s almost afraid to know.)  

“Careful,” Kakashi manages to say when he remembers that he has a voice. “You’re starting to sound like you belong in _Icha Icha._ _”_ It was meant to be a joke, to break the tension, but somehow it comes out a little too shaky, a little too strained.  

Iruka doesn’t respond but he does look over his shoulder. There is a certain look in his eyes that can’t possibly be there — almost like slow curling heat. Or maybe it’s just the trick of the light. A grin slowly spreads across Iruka’s face, and it puts a challenge in Iruka’s eyes. “Bet you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” Iruka _murmurs_ _,_ so softly, almost sultry in its delivery, and Kakashi can’t stop the visible tremble that goes through him, as he sucks in a sharp breath, hands stopping in the wake of the words.

Iruka had just decided to quote a line right out of _Icha Icha Tactics,_  knowing what it would do to him.

It’s almost cruel.

“Careful, Kakashi-san. You’re starting to look like Takeshi-kun,” Iruka says, referring to the antagonist of _Icha Icha Tactics_ _,_ and turns his head away, carefully shifting in his seat to stand, pulling away from Kakashi’s hands. Iruka turns to face him, adjusting his yukata and smiles. “My shoulder feels a lot better, thank you. I think I’ll be able to finish this sooner than anticipated.” Iruka pauses, the cheekiest grin slowly splitting his face as he raises up his chin and says, dismissively, “You may go to bed now.”

Kakashi stares at him, stunned, a fever swirling up within him and blazing up the back of his neck to his face, as a quiet breath breaks its way past his lips. Every part of him feels like it’s on fire, his arousal suddenly so intense and present, Kakashi doesn’t know how Iruka couldn’t possibly notice.

He hadn’t expected that from Iruka — not the _Icha Icha_ line delivery, and certainly not the order wrapped up in a dismissal.

(He doesn’t know how Iruka keeps doing this to him, and doesn’t know why he lets him.)

He swallows past the sudden constriction in his throat and quickly turns, hoping that Iruka hadn’t somehow looked down, because he’s not sure he can deal with the idea of Iruka knowing the truth.

“Goodnight, Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi says, when he finds his voice.

“Goodnight, Kakashi-san,” Iruka returns lightly, like he does every night.

Later, as Kakashi muffles his moans into his pillow, lube-slicked fingers plunging and curling into himself as he strokes out the last of another orgasm that shakes him to his core, all he can think is that he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the next three months.

He’s going to need to get Iruka out of his system.

Fast.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, our porn is nothing like _Icha Icha_ , hehehe. ;D
> 
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	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Very rough consensual nsfw in this chapter. 
> 
> **Soundtrack:** [Amber Run - Dark Bloom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubhnXXQeN5w)

To say that Tenzou is surprised would be an understatement.

He had gone back to his quarters — or rather, his ‘home’ — for a break, with the full intention of taking a nap before he returned back to his post. There’s not much to do when you’re standing on high guard over one of the world’s most dangerous S-class nin — the man responsible for your creation, the reason why you had spent a good portion your life living within the walls of a lab with no recollection of where you had come from, your real name, or who you were.

It’s not the best kind of way to spend his time, but it’s quiet, and after everything that had happened, after the massacre of the war, Tenzou has learned to appreciate the quiet. His day is mostly straightforward, with his shift rotating in unpredictable clockwork that forces him to sometimes pull long all nighters. After all, you can’t have a predictable schedule while guarding someone like Orochimaru.

Tonight is the first time in a long time that Tenzou gets to take a break when the sun isn’t high in the sky. It’s the first time he may just get to sleep and wake up like the rest of Konoha’s citizens.

Kakashi’s presence catches Tenzou completely off guard when it shouldn’t have. Not in a place like this, not when he’s supposed to be always _on guard_. Tenzou steps into his quarters — a small place, easy to maintain, basic, enough to house a man with little needs like him. Kakashi is sprawled on his bed, reading one of his books, dressed down completely. His flak jacket and hitai-ate lie in a pile on the floor by the bed, along a pile of sliced bindings covering discarded weapon holsters.

He almost looks lazy, but Tenzou knows — there’s nothing lazy about that posture.

Nothing at all.

Tenzou can spot it from a mile away.

The door shuts, lock turning and wards buzzing, as Tenzou carefully pulls his faceplate off.

“Senpai,” he says, careful and casual. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Kakashi says nothing — and it’s his silence that puts Tenzou on edge. The lack of words or even any sort of audible response has his body seizing up and going into automatic defense when Kakashi rolls off the bed, and stalks across the space between them, shoving Tenzou against the door. And before he knows what’s happening, Kakashi is on his knees and suddenly, Tenzou has hands in his pants divesting him of his clothing, and his soft cock is in Kakashi’s mouth.

It’s so sudden, so shocking, that it knocks him off his guarded perch, the tension of fight or flight leaving him in seconds as the familiar heat of Kakashi’s mouth — something he hasn’t felt in a while — surrounds him. There’s a raw desperation in the way Kakashi takes him in, runs his fingers over his thighs and grips at his hips, urges him to fuck his mouth until Tenzou is hard and throbbing. The way Kakashi _moans_ , the deep seated _need_ thrumming through the frame of his body —  it’s all Tenzou can do to keep his hands from yanking Kakashi’s hair right out of his scalp from the vice grip he has on those silver strands, as he rides that hot, wet mouth and loses himself completely.

He doesn’t remember Kakashi ever being this _vocal_ while sucking cock.

And he doesn’t remember the last time Kakashi begged him to fuck his mouth.

(Not when they aren't coated in blood and guts, mud caking their armor and knees and hidden in the shadows of a forest, away from prying eyes.)

Coming in Kakashi’s mouth, watching him shudder as he parts his lips and closes his eyes like this is exactly what he’s been waiting for, what he had come all the way to the middle of almost god forsaken nowhere for, makes the desire in Tenzou curl again, when he isn’t even done orgasming. Kakashi moans around Tenzou’s cock as he swallows down every drop.

But instead of being sated, his hunger seems to only grow.

One look at his eyes, sharp and glazed over with so much _need_ and a certain desperation, and Tenzou knows what he has to do.

What Kakashi truly needs.

He shoves Kakashi down on all fours, divesting him of his clothing, fabric almost tearing as he binds him in place, Mokuton wrapping around him and forcing his arms behind his back as Kakashi’s mouth is forced down on his clone’s cock. There is nothing quiet about Kakashi that night, not as his clone fucks his mouth brutally while Tenzou kneels behind him, spreading his legs and brutally plunging his fingers into his ass. Kakashi’s voice is more than enough — so foreign in its loudness, so vulnerable in its pitch, to make Tenzou hard again.

They fuck for hours.

Tenzou begins to feel the exhaustion sometime by the third round, when he has Kakashi on his lap, riding his cock, gripping him roughly by his jaw to control where he can look, breaths hissing as Kakashi cries out over and over again, vulgar words of pleasure rolling past his lips.

“ _Harder,_ Tenzou,” he demands with his forehead pressed against Tenzou’s, the humid heat of his breaths steaming across Tenzou’s lips, one hand plunged into his hair as Tenzou’s cock slides in and out of him. “Stop holding back.”

It takes a lot for Tenzou to lose his self-control. Kakashi looking at him like that, forcing him to be the man he only knows to be, the Tenzou that is wrapped up under the measured and carefully constructed mask of Yamato — it undoes him in ways he doesn’t quite enjoy.

Tenzou doesn’t like it when he’s not in full control, when he is forced to do things outside of mission parameters — not like this.

(But he understands. He always understands with Kakashi.)

The brutal shove and backhand across the face is what ends it, as he pushes Kakashi down on his back, spreads him wide and wraps fingers around his throat to silence the words spilling out of that whorish mouth, as his hips snap forward and he pounds into the willing, pliant body underneath him. Kakashi comes for the fourth time that night, long and hard and so _loud,_ that in such a quiet place like this, Tenzou is sure the rest of the guards would have heard.

When it’s over, when Tenzou comes back to his body, when he casts a look around the mess around him and at Kakashi lying half-unconscious on the floor, at the mottled bruises and bite marks that will take days to fade, when he eventually picks himself off the floor, gathers Kakashi in his arms and cleans the mess off him, erases everything else on the floor —Tenzou has only one question running through his mind.

What the hell happened?

 

*

 

Tenzou had expected Kakashi to be gone — he usually is. So to find that Kakashi is still in bed after he returns from his afternoon shift is surprising. It’s clearly let’s-fuck-with-Tenzou day.

Kakashi doesn’t even so much as stir when Tenzou reheats leftovers and puts a fresh pot of tea on. Tenzou isn’t exactly trying to be quiet but by the time he’s got a rice bowl ready topped with vegetables and Kakashi only shifts in bed to switch positions, Tenzou _sighs._

He sits on the bed, not exactly careful or wary of his movements and sets the rice bowl and cup of tea by the dresser, giving Kakashi a firm shake. This is how it’s always been between them, easy understanding and camaraderie that stems from years of being soaked into much blood. They know what they really are, monsters behind blank white masks. There’s no need to pretend to be something more.

(It’s the easiest thing to be. For Tenzou, anyway.)

“Senpai?” he says, shaking him again. “You need to get up and go home. I need my bed. I’m tired.”

Kakashi makes an unintelligible sound that segues into a low groan, as he slowly shifts and turns to face Tenzou, eyes cracking open. The look in his eyes from the previous night —  hungry and raw and desperate — isn't there anymore. If anything, Kakashi looks far too comfortable and satisfied in Tenzou’s bed. Tenzou watches as Kakashi's mouth curls into a lazy, lopsided grin. “You could just join me, you know,” he says, voice hoarse from how roughly Tenzou had used him the night before, patting the bed.

“Not tonight,” Tenzou says, and picks up the cup of herbal tea, offering it to Kakashi. “Any other time I would have pushed you over a bit. You know that.” Tenzou also knows that it usually results in another tumble. Not always, but it has happened. “Drink. You need it. And eat that. _All_ of it.”

Kakashi sighs, like it's somehow a chore for him to be taken care of. And then, he pushes himself up on an elbow, shifting onto his side. The action results in a slight wince — which Tenzou isn't surprised to see, given what had happened. Kakashi reaches out and takes the tea, then takes a sip, humming with appreciation. Tenzou had made sure to put plenty of peppermint in it — it’s how he usually takes his own tea after most of Kakashi's visits, when his throat burns from being fucked a little too roughly.

“What time is it?” Kakashi asks, after a few sips of tea.

“Almost three,” Tenzou answers, and stands up to get himself a cup of tea as well.

“Mmn.” Kakashi seems to accept this without much surprise, and takes another long sip from his cup before he sets it down on the nightstand and then takes a breath to steel himself, and then sits up, wincing again, before he reaches out and takes the bowl of food Tenzou had set out for him. Tenzou knows exactly how sore Kakashi must be feeling; he’s been on the receiving end far too many times.

Tenzou doesn’t join Kakashi back on the bed as Kakashi starts to eat, opting to lean against the dresser instead, and looks over the mess of a man on his bed. He can see the shadows of where he'd been in the darkening bruises around Kakashi's throat and wrists, in the bright splotches of red scattered across pale skin. It’s not a look he usually sees on Kakashi. Normally, Tenzou’s the one who ends up looking that wrecked.

But clearly, something had driven Kakashi to him in that state, and Tenzou can’t help but wonder if this is going to be a frequent occurrence. Getting fucked is one thing. Wanting to get fucked is also another thing. But coming all the way to the edge of the village, begging and _needy_ like a wanton _whore_ _,_ is something else all together. It takes a _lot_ to push Kakashi into that kind of state, after all.

It's not often that Kakashi surrenders complete control.

“What happened?” Tenzou asks, without preamble or hesitation, as he takes a sip of his tea.

“Hmm?” Kakashi glances up at him over his rice bowl, confusion briefly flitting across his face. “Nothing happened. Why do you ask?” He says it like it's the truth. Like what happened last night wasn't something for Tenzou to be worried about.

Tenzou had expected the deflection. Kakashi does it best when he doesn’t want to talk about the truth. “Let me rephrase that question,” Tenzou says, lips tilting up in amusement. “Should I be expecting your visits more often and you begging like a whore? Or is this a one time thing.” Tenzou takes a sip of his tea, watching Kakashi carefully, focusing on the corners of his jaw, the corners of his eyes, the two places that would betray his real answer, if anything. A trick he’s learned over the years.

And sure enough, Kakashi’s jaw clenches slightly as he reaches out for the cup of tea, while his mouth forms itself into something of an amused smirk. “Can't a senpai come and take advantage of his adorable kouhai’s excellent skills from time to time without being interrogated?” He raises a brow as he takes a sip of his tea, the lines of his body deceptively relaxed.

“Ah,” Tenzou sighs, the corner of his lips curling up in amusement. “It’s your adorable kouhai’s job to worry about his senpai’s well being. I care~” He can see it, the lie and obvious deflection. “How’s your husband, by the way? Is Iruka-sensei treating Kakashi-senpai very well?”

Tenzou doesn't miss the way Kakashi’s eyes sharpen the moment he mentions Iruka. He would've had to be blind to not notice the tension that suddenly works its way into Kakashi's shoulders, as he takes another slow, measured sip of tea. And then just like that, it's like it was never there. The lines of his body once more resolve into something lazy and unreadable, like his expression. “He’s fine,” Kakashi says as he sets his cup down, and returns to his meal. “But you know, he's not really my husband.”

He gives Tenzou a bit of a flat look then.

“Could have fooled me with that look. Thank you, by the way, for insulting my intelligence.” Tenzou grins, and raises his cup of tea in a toast towards Kakashi. “You should know better, by now.”

As if Tenzou didn't need even more confirmation, Kakashi’s gaze breaks right off him and drops down to his bowl of food. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he insists, and goes right back to eating.

“You’re still leaving him,” Tenzou says, watching Kakashi eat with a focus he only reserves when he’s observing a target. “Aren’t you?”

Kakashi sighs as he swallows his bite of food, and then looks up at Tenzou. He looks tired, despite having slept most of the day. “Of course I'm still going through with the divorce. It's not like we’re really together.”

“Oh good,” Tenzou says, straightening himself up and crossing the space to the kitchen to pick up his bowl of rice. He pulls a chair then, sitting himself down carefully, casual and almost uncaring. Tenzou is feeling for things in the dark, trying to see what gauges the most reaction out of Kakashi. “For a moment there, I thought you had gotten attached. He doesn’t seem to be your type, anyway.”

Kakashi's brows pinch together so quickly, if Tenzou had blinked, he would have missed it entirely. Kakashi's expression smooths out the way it always does when he's trying his best to compartmentalize. He's exceptionally good at it, making himself look impassive, like he really doesn't give a shit about anything at all. But the truth is — and Tenzou knows this quite well — Kakashi sometimes cares too much, even when he shouldn't. He watches as the corners of Kakashi's mouth curve up in something that's supposed to pass as amusement. “I wasn't aware I had a type,” he says dryly. “This is news to me.”

Of course, Kakashi would latch on to the first thing he could to try and change the topic, expertly avoiding having to address the fact that Tenzou has just accused him of being _attached._

Tenzou doesn’t respond immediately, not until half his bowl is empty and he picks up his tea to wash his meal down. He doesn’t look away from Kakashi, not for a moment. “Ah, that was presumptuous of me to say then,” he says, another casual delivery. “Anyway. You didn’t answer my question. Am I supposed to expect last night to happen again until this divorce is over?”

It doesn’t get more direct than that; Tenzou knows this.

“Are you saying you didn't enjoy it?” Kakashi raises a brow as he meets Tenzou’s gaze unflinchingly.

It’s another deflection. Tenzou knows this. Can see it as clear as day as Kakashi continues to watch the impassive expression Tenzou isn’t even trying to maintain. Tenzou isn’t even sure how to deal with this kind of fuck up, he isn’t exactly emotionally equipped to deal with anything beyond what he is ordered to do, beyond duty and obligation.

(It should bother him but it doesn’t; it’s what he knows how to do best. It means he doesn’t have to be like Kakashi at all.)

“Maa, bring food next time. It’s the least you could do,” Tenzou mutters, standing up and emptying the rest of his bowl in quick successive mouthfuls, not bothering to answer the question because liking it or enjoying it isn’t the point. “Senpai, you _know_ better.”

Tenzou doesn’t need to look at Kakashi for him to understand what he means or to hear the weight behind the repeated words.

(Because if there’s anyone who knows him well, it’s Kakashi.)

It's then, that Kakashi’s gaze darkens as he looks away, and for the first time since he woke up, Tenzou can finally glimpse at something real between the cracks. Something raw.

“I know,” Kakashi says, and it comes out far too soft.

It is too late, Tenzou realizes — he’s already far too attached for anything to be severed without losing an integral part of him in the process. Tenzou doesn’t know Iruka, hasn’t had the time to be around him as much. But if he can break through Kakashi’s carefully constructed armour in less than four months, if reducing Kakashi to something Tenzou hasn’t seen in nearly a decade has been his doing, this _insane_ need for surrender — well. He shouldn’t be surprised that Kakashi is attached.

It’s in that far too soft answer that Tenzou knows with everything in him that Kakashi is truly fucked.

  

*

 

It turns out that fucking Tenzou doesn’t take the edge off at all.

Whatever relief Kakashi had found evaporates like dew the moment he steps foot back inside the house and breathes in orange and cinnamon and _Iruka._ And though every part of him aches, _burns_ with how roughly he’d let Tenzou fuck him, it doesn’t have any of the satisfaction of a good, hard fuck. It only reminds him of everything he can’t have standing right in front of him — close enough to touch, but too far away to hold.

And in two months, Iruka won’t be there anymore.

(Kakashi tries not to think too much about that fact, as he writes Iruka a note to thank him for the dinner he’d thoughtfully left out for him on the counter.)

 

 *

 

Morning comes with a horrible gasp of shock.

Kakashi raises his eyes over the rim of his mug of coffee with a cocked brow to find Iruka staring at him, aghast. His eyes are wide, skin slightly pale, as he looks at him with concern, and crosses the space between them, dropping his satchel on the floor. He reaches out to grasp Kakashi by the chin, turning his face to look at the ugly bruise blossoming over his left cheekbone.

“Kakashi! What happened? This is terrible!” Iruka’s expression crumples as he looks at Kakashi with an expression that shouldn’t be there at all. It looks too much like the way he’d looked at him that night when he’d found Kakashi bleeding out on his bedroom floor.

Kakashi flinches back slightly, jerking his chin out of Iruka’s grip as he manages a wry grin, eyes crinkling into perfect crescents. “Iruka-sensei, you worry too much… It’s going to give you wrinkles.” He takes a sip of his coffee, like this is just any morning, and they’re talking about the weather, instead of the fact that he has a nasty bruise on his face. “I was just sparring with a friend, and he caught me by surprise. It looks worse than it really is.”

Maybe he should have skipped breakfast.

That way, he could have avoided the look in Iruka’s eyes, which suddenly slides away, as Iruka’s hand retracts. Iruka opens his mouth to say something, but seems to thinks better of it and swallows instead. His hand drops down to curl around the back of a chair.

“It looks painful. I could heal it for you, take the edge and swelling off a little bit…” Iruka sounds hesitant, voice dropping to a softer tenor.

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Kakashi says, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. “I could use a reminder to not be so careless.”  

Iruka’s nose wrinkles, his fingers tightening around the frame of the chair for a moment before he takes a step back, away from Kakashi, putting distance between them, pouring himself a cup of coffee into a thermos. “Sounds a little counterproductive… but well, I hope that’s the only bruise on you.” Iruka pauses. “You should probably put some ice on that.”

“Mm, I’ll do it later.” Kakashi hadn’t meant for it to come out so dismissively. Iruka’s brows flinch together slightly in response, and Kakashi sighs. “I appreciate your concern… but really, this is nothing.” Iruka doesn’t look like he believes him, and Kakashi doesn’t really know why he feels the need to explain, when he doesn’t owe Iruka an explanation. But the concern on Iruka’s face — the worry that still sits in his eyes and tenses up in his shoulders — it shouldn’t be there at all. So, Kakashi lets the tension sitting behind his ribs slide into his voice and says, “Without Sharingan… I’m not quite what I used to be…”

That much, at least, is true.

“You’ll get there.” Iruka sounds encouraging, but doesn’t meet Kakashi’s gaze as he caps the thermos and picks up his bag off the floor, preparing to leave. “Maa, I guess I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Warmth curls up behind Kakashi’s ribs, unbidden and unexpected, and he tears his eyes away from the look in Iruka’s eyes and the tense set of his mouth that should always be turned up in a smile. “Mm, I suppose I should count myself lucky then,” Kakashi comments lightly as he takes a measured sip of his coffee, then glances at Iruka again. “I’d be a little concerned if you actually _liked_ seeing me hurt.” He pauses for a beat as Iruka’s gaze snaps up to meet his. Kakashi’s mouth curves with a lopsided smirk and he quirks his brow up, and decides to disarm the tension between them with something completely inappropriate. “After all, that would be surprisingly kinky, even for you.”  

Iruka huffs a sudden laugh and shakes his head, tucking his thermos into his satchel and tossing Kakashi a look over his shoulder as he turns to the leave the kitchen. “Honestly? If I put that mark on your face, _believe_ me, you wouldn’t _dare_ speak to me the way you just did.” Iruka flashes him a grin as Kakashi stares at him in shock, heat flaring up his neck, into his cheeks, and straight down to his cock.

Iruka gives Kakashi a pointed look, the same victorious expression he had worn a week ago, when he had won their little bet. Like he _knows_ he has the upper hand. “See you at dinner~!”

Kakashi mutely watches as Iruka heads out of the kitchen and saunters down the hall, leaving Kakashi standing there with half a cup of coffee in his hand, burning with everything he had hoped he could bury.

But there’s no burying this at all, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Tenzou was right.

He _should_ have known better.

  

*

 

There is a slight shift in Kakashi’s behavior that would have been easy to miss, if Iruka didn’t know how to look for it. He’s not quite as relaxed as he used to be around Iruka, and doesn’t meet his gaze so easily anymore. There are times when Iruka can feel the weight of Kakashi’s stare, brushing over the length of his back while he’s preparing breakfast. Sometimes, when Iruka is bent over tall piles of homework, and he’s on a streak grading them, the weight of Kakashi’s stare makes itself known, when Kakashi thinks he’s not paying attention, or is too distracted to notice.

One evening, when it gets a little too distracting, Iruka looks up from a stack of papers and meets Kakashi’s gaze unflinchingly, cocking an eyebrow and canting his head to the side.

“Kakashi-san, if you want to say something to me, you should use your words.”

Heat spills over Kakashi’s face, darkening the healing bruise, as his eyes flinch away. He rubs a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “Ah, no, I was just—”

“Yes?” Iruka puts his pen down, voice firm.

Kakashi clears his throat. “You’ve been grading for a while. I was thinking of making some tea. Would you like some?”

Iruka finds the reaction a little odd and huffs a bit of an amused sound. “Well, I won’t say no if you’re going to serve me tea.”

Kakashi hums in acknowledgment, snaps _Secrets in the Sand_ shut, leans forward to set it down on the coffee table, then rises from where he’d been lounging on the couch in the living room. Iruka watches as he heads past him, and sets a kettle on, opening the cabinets and pulling out Iruka’s favorite tea.

There’s a kind of nervous tension in Kakashi’s body, wound around his shoulders and down his spine, which shouldn’t be there at all. Like he’s holding himself a little too carefully, his movements measured.

Iruka frowns as he looks at the quiz paper before him, his concentration shattered, clicking his pen a few times, as his mind races. He isn’t sure when all of this started, or if it’s been there all along, and this is the first time he’s really noticing it. And if it’s been there all this time, how did he _not_ notice?

It doesn’t take long for the kettle to go off. Kakashi could have simply chosen the easy route of tea bags that would have allowed him to simply pour water into a mug, but instead, he prepares a teapot filled with loose tea leaves, and fills it with steaming water. As the smell of cinnamon fills the air, Iruka watches as Kakashi reaches for a few oranges sitting in the bowl, quickly slicing and plating them.

He sets this down in front of Iruka, along with an empty tea cup, which he fills with perfectly steeped tea, then gently places the teapot down next to it.

“Don’t stay up too late grading. You’ll fall asleep at the kitchen table, again,” Kakashi tells him lightly, and then turns back towards the counter, where his own mug sits with a tea bag in it.

“I’ll try. It’s going to be a busy in the coming days but, ah…” Iruka flushes a little bit, but feels grateful. There had been no need for Kakashi to prepare tea this way, no need to go the extra mile, especially when it’s already getting late. But Kakashi had properly served him tea, and Iruka isn’t quite sure what to make of it. He needs to stop over thinking it. It’s probably just in his mind because of the small pockets of uncharacteristic behaviour, how Kakashi is suddenly a little too guarded around him. “Thank you, Kakashi-san. You didn't have to. But I am grateful.”

After that night, Iruka consciously makes the effort to put a little distance between them, keeping his gaze resolutely turned away, even when all he wants to do is watch Kakashi rub sleep from his eyes at sunrise, stretch his arms over his head, and drink his coffee, as he leans against the pillar in the engawa, his breath misting in the early winter air.

Stop watching him, he’s not yours to look at, Iruka reminds himself, as he pointedly fixes his gaze at the rising sun, instead.

It’s hard not to look at Kakashi.

But Iruka tries.

  
*

 

A week before the New Year, Iruka comes home with a bag of otoshidama envelopes. It’s that time of the year again, when Iruka spend hours carefully stuffing each envelope and writing his student’s name on it, tucking in a note for each one to do their best in the year ahead. Iruka spends the entire year budgeting just for this occasion, and this year is his biggest batch of students yet. He has to prepare a hundred and fifty envelopes.

Iruka gets a head start after dinner, and carefully begins to fill each envelope, ticking one name at a time from a list as he stuffs new notes and his wishes for their year ahead. His colleagues had accused him of going a little over the top, but Iruka finds no harm in giving what he can. His parents had always stressed in giving, in being generous and making your wishes known to those you love, and Iruka can’t think of anyone more deserving than his hard working students.

If he could give them the world, he would.

But a hundred and fifty envelopes is a lot to prepare, and with only a few prepared, Iruka looks at the pile and thinks that he started too late. He won’t be able to have it done in time and still put up the decorations and prepare osechi ryori. He looks up just as Kakashi wanders into the kitchen, heading for the cabinets where they keep tea and snacks. Iruka hesitates for a moment, and then decides there’s no harm in asking.

“Kakashi-san? Ah, I was wondering, if it’s not too much trouble, if I could get a hand in filling these envelopes?” Iruka sounds unsure, as a flush smears all over his cheeks, as red as the envelopes on the table. It only deepens when Kakashi’s gaze sweeps over him and then down to the table, a silver eyebrow raising slightly as he stares at the piles of notes, and the rather large box of ryo sitting on the kitchen table.

“Are you giving away all your money to celebrate the New Year?” Kakashi asks dryly, as he takes out a container of roasted peanuts from the cabinet.

“I am prepared for this.” Iruka says, and flushes even deeper as he takes another envelope and starts to fill it with a thousand ryo. “I’ve been doing this every year since I started teaching. It’s not so bad if you plan it right during the year. Besides, those kids, they’re all I’ve got and they deserve a little something.” Iruka keeps his gaze down as he clears his throat and rubs the scar on his nose.  “And it’s not like I’m ever going to have kids of my own. I’d include all of my former students, but ahh…” Iruka has a modest salary and while some may say his practice is stupidly impractical, he knows his limits. Iruka looks up at Kakashi, and smiles a little sheepishly. “It’s good to give back.”

Kakashi’s expression softens slightly, something gentle tugging at the corners of his mouth that makes Iruka looks away, warmth fluttering in his chest. Kakashi dips his head slightly, and then turns to the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of beer that he swiftly uncaps before crossing over to the kitchen table, setting the second beer down before Iruka, and then taking a seat across from him.

Kakashi looks over the mountains of envelopes before him and then up at Iruka. “Where would you like me to begin?”

  
*

  
Over bottles of beer and roasted peanuts, they stuff one hundred and fifty otoshidama envelopes, soft laughter filling up the kitchen as Iruka shares anecdotes about his students, while Kakashi listens with amusement shining in his eyes.

It feels right.

It feels like home.

But maybe that has more to do with the way Kakashi smiles — unguarded and open in a way he hasn’t been in weeks. It’s almost as if whatever it was Iruka had picked up on didn’t exist, didn’t even happen. It’s a refreshing change, and makes Iruka realize how much he’s missed this side of Kakashi.

(When he has no business missing something like this, because precious as these moments are, Iruka has to remind himself that it isn’t his to keep or wish for.)

Has anyone ever told you that you’re far too generous? Kakashi had asked after his fourth bottle of beer.

And too kind, and too soft, and too attached — yes, I’ve heard it all, Iruka had responded, with a laugh and an eyeroll.

The look Kakashi had given him then was quiet and assessing, like he was looking at Iruka and seeing straight into him.

It takes a lot of courage to be kind, Kakashi told him softly, which Iruka hadn’t expected at all, because in a world as brutal as theirs, kindness has never been considered a strength. Shinobi aren’t taught to be kind — they’re taught to be ruthless, calculating. Vicious. Something like kindness has no place when forging sharp weapons to fight wars in the shadows.

Everyone is born kind, it’s how we all start out, Iruka had said, looking up at Kakashi. But then we all grow up and forget. My father used to say that to me. My mother made me promise not to. So I try not to. But sometimes, I also forget.

As I said… it takes a lot of courage to be kind, Kakashi told him again. And maybe it was just one too many beers or a trick of the light, but for a moment, the look in Kakashi’s eyes felt far too tender, too warm. _Like love_ , Iruka thought to himself in shock, before the light changed and the moment passed and when he had blinked, it was gone.

But the quiet smile on Kakashi’s face — that was still there. And for the briefest moment, as they finish stacking full envelopes of otoshidama, Iruka dares to believe that it was all his.  
  


*  
  


It takes a lot of courage to find the words, but a day before New Year’s Eve, while Iruka prepares the last remaining osechi ryori dishes, packing them into lacquered jubako boxes, he says, “Kakashi-san, I will be heading up the mountains to see the sunrise tomorrow. Unless you already have other plans, would you like to join me?”

Kakashi blinks in surprise as he looks up from _Secrets in the Sand_ , which he’s been rereading with a little more regularity than _Icha Icha_. He studies Iruka for a moment, and then his eyes soften slightly as a faint smile eases its way across his mouth. “I’d be happy to,” he replies gently, and Iruka can’t stop the grin or the excitement from showing on his face.

“I’ll pack something to keep us warm.” Iruka smiles and then looks away, back down to the cutting board filled with vegetables. “I’m heading to the shrine tonight as well, if you’d also like to come?”

There's another pause of silence, but then Kakashi hums in agreement, and though Iruka isn't looking at him he can feel the warmth of his eyes on him. “It's been awhile since I've been. It'll be nice.”

“Maybe whatever you wish for this time will come true faster.” Iruka grins. “I hope it does.”

The smile Kakashi gives him is faint. “I don’t usually make wishes,” he admits. “But, I suppose it won’t hurt to try.”

“Oh?” Iruka doesn’t look up from where he’s chopping vegetables. “Not the type to believe in wishes?”

“No.”

Something in Kakashi’s voice makes Iruka pause and when he looks up at him, he catches something distant and quiet in Kakashi’s eyes, as he looks out the window. Iruka suddenly goes very still. It’s the same expression Kakashi wears when Iruka has seen him standing before the memorial with his hands in his pockets and a faraway look in his eyes.  

“Everything I normally would wish for… could never come true,” Kakashi admits a little too quietly.

“Mine wouldn’t either,” Iruka admits, standing there and looking at the man and the home that he wishes could be his. “But I wish for it anyway. Kakashi-san should too. You never know, it may just come true, even when you think it won’t.”

Kakashi makes a noncommittal hum as he looks back at him with somewhat of a rueful smile at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t tell Iruka that no amount of wishes could ever bring back the dead, or rewrite the past. He doesn’t say that wishes are about as real as glory on a battlefield, and have about as much power as prayers sent to gods that had stopped listening long ago. Gods Kakashi stopped believing in when he was five years old, when no amount of prayer, or wishes, brought back his father, no matter how hard he tried to wish him back alive.

He could tell Iruka that it’s a waste of time, that wishes never come true.

That he has nothing left to wish for, anyway.

But that wouldn’t be entirely the truth — when the only thing he would wish for now stands before him with hope still shining in his warm brown eyes.

So Kakashi looks at him and lies between his teeth. “Perhaps,” he says, even if he knows the truth — there is nothing that he could ever wish for which would ever come true. Wishes can’t bring back the dead, and they certainly won’t ever make Iruka stay.

Iruka would never love him, anyway.

No matter how much Kakashi wishes he could.  
  


 

*  
  


When they arrive at the shrine an hour before midnight, it’s packed with shinobi and civilians alike, dressed in their finest winter kimono. They make their way through the crowds to the chozuya, to purify their hands and their mouths.

Kakashi peels off his gloves and tucks them into the sleeves of his haori before he lifts the ladle next to Iruka and dips it into the water trough before them.

Iruka couldn’t help but stare with a slight gape when Kakashi had come downstairs earlier, dressed in a light grey kimono tucked into a pair of crisp wool hakama patterned with a black and white lattice. He had on a mid-length thick winter grey and navy blue patchwork wool haori, and a darker blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He had forgone his hitai-ate, given the occasion, and his silver hair fell lightly across his forehead.

Though the black masked singlet he wore underneath the kimono wasn’t anything new, seeing Kakashi dressed like this was so out of the norm, that Iruka forgot that he shouldn’t have been staring.

Kakashi had looked at him with a slightly raised brow as Iruka flushed a brilliant red. And though he couldn’t see Kakashi’s mouth beyond the shadows it formed in his mask, he could feel the smile underneath.

“Iruka-sensei, if you want to say something to me, you should use your words.” Kakashi’s eyes were two crescents above his mask.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than your uniform,” Iruka had answered, as he rubbed the back of his head. “You look very handsome tonight.”

Kakashi clearly hadn’t expected him to actually say anything, because his eyes had widened slightly above his mask, and he dipped his head in response as his gaze traveled over Iruka. Iruka felt it like a brush of fingers, warm and steady. “You look very nice as well,” Kakashi had said, taking in the full-length, light grey kimono Iruka had dressed in, with a dark red obi and black haori.

Iruka had blushed even darker, and nodded with a murmured thanks, and then they’d made their way to the shrine, which was only a short walk away.

There had been something so surreal about walking together with Kakashi like this, dressed in garments that don’t belong to Konoha or on men like them. Iruka only had to close his eyes and he could almost pretend that they were truly married, man and husband, walking down the cobblestone path, going home together.

Iruka can easily imagine doing this for the remainder of his lifetime.    

“I haven’t been here in years,” Kakashi says as he tugs his mask back up after he finishes the purification ritual while surreptitiously shielding his face. “I think the last time might have been with Gai…” He pauses slightly, and glances at Iruka. “You know, it’s his birthday tomorrow.”

“I heard there’s a party.” Iruka turns over to look at Kakashi. “You’re obviously going. He’s your best friend.”

Kakashi pauses at that, and glances away. “Maa, I don’t know if I’d call him my ‘best friend.’ He seems to like the term ‘Eternal Rival’ more,” he quips lightly. “But, if you would like to come… it’s usually one hell of a party.”

Iruka flushes and clears his throat, rubbing the edge of his scar with a finger, lips slowly curling to a shy smile. “Sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

The tolling of the shrine bell interrupts them, and Kakashi glances towards the long line of villagers waiting their turn to pray and wish for good fortune. “Shall we?”    
  


*  
  


The last time Iruka had stood in line like this with family feels like a lifetime ago, when he had been far too small to see beyond the throng of colorful obis and his hands were even smaller, encased in the warmth of his parents’ hands.

Iruka still remembers their last trip to the shrine — how strong and big and tall his father had looked in his dark blue kimono, and how beautiful his mother had looked in her red and gold kimono, the one that Iruka had picked out for her at the store, because it had cranes at the hem, with large spread out wings. He remembers his, too —  blue, like his father’s, with orange and red koi to match his mother’s kimono. He remembers standing between them as he wished for them to allow him to go on that year’s Academy camp trip, because he had been too small the previous year and they didn’t allow him.

He had wished for such trivial things, when he should have wished to have them by his side forever. If he had known that the Kyuubi was going to take them away that year, Iruka would have knelt and provided offerings to every deity to not have them die.

Iruka knows better than to wish for trivial things, now. Knows better than to wish for a forever as well, when years after the passing of his family, he had started to come with Mizuki. Forever never lasts. Forever can also mean the most bitter of betrayals. Iruka knows better.

But as he steps up into the shrine with Kakashi by his side, and tosses his hundred ryo offering into the saisen, his fingers brush against Kakashi’s, and he looks up and finds Kakashi glancing at him with surprise, before his eyes slide away, along with his hand. It’s like staring at a distant star, its light burning bright, yet so far away. It might not even be there anymore, and is just another reflection of light in the night sky. Yet looking at him now, in this moment, when it’s just the two of them under the roof of the gods making an offering, that light seems more real to Iruka than anything else.

Iruka bows twice and claps his hands together, and for the first time in a long time, he dares to wish for a forever _and if I can't have that, then please give him all the happiness in the world._  
  


*  
  


They leave when the sky is still dark, the stars their only light as they make their way up the mountains. They settle on a spot under one of the towering oak trees, just by a ledge where Iruka lays out the blanket and hands Kakashi a thick, woolen shawl.

“Stay warm or you’ll catch a cold.” Iruka’s breath mists in the cold air and he pours them both tea from the packed thermos, burrowing a little deeper into his scarf as he hands Kakashi a steaming cup.

They sit like that, shoulder to shoulder, bundled in thick shawls and blankets, watching as dawn creeps over the horizon.

“Thank you for coming with me, Kakashi-san. I hope it’ll be a good year ahead,” Iruka says, just as the first bright ray of sunshine cuts over the horizon.

“I hope so too,” Kakashi replies quietly with a faint smile.

Iruka turns to look at Kakashi then, takes in how beautiful he looks in the cold breeze, with his mask down to drink from the thermos, breath misting in the air. _Gods, if I can have just_ one thing in this lifetime _, let it be him._ I would want nothing more— I would need nothing more, he desperately thinks _._ “I have something for you.” Iruka tears his eyes away before Kakashi can catch him staring, hoping the wistfulness in his gaze is gone as he rummages for the present in his pack.

Kakashi’s gaze drifts over to him, and Iruka catches a flash of surprise in his eyes, before he masks it with mirth. “You know, I’m a little old for otoshidama, but if you insist on giving away all your money as your New Year’s resolution, I suppose I’ll just have to accept.”

“Kakashi-san, you most certainly do not need _my_ money. And you’re right — you’re too old.” Iruka pulls out a nicely wrapped present in blue and red, the wrapping not as ornate as the one Kakashi had received for his birthday. “Here you go.” Iruka holds it out with two hands, a bit of an embarrassed flush dusting over his cheeks. The shape and size makes it obvious and Iruka finds himself unable to stop the words from spilling. “I figured, since you seemed to have enjoyed _Secrets in the Sand_ , this may be up your alley too. It isn’t very popular and I stumbled upon it by chance. But ah…”

Iruka watches as Kakashi looks down at the book with surprise. From the stunned widening of Kakashi’s eyes, Iruka guesses that he must have thought it would have just been something small, like a card, filled with New Year’s well wishes. “Iruka…” Kakashi breathes out, and then reaches for the present, as the first light of day breaks over the top of the Hokage mountain and washes over him.

It makes the silver of his hair burn almost gold, glancing off his pale skin. Iruka can’t look away even he wants to, doesn’t dare to, because they won’t have another moment like this — a New Year’s sunrise with just the two of them. For a moment, within the small space of their shared blanket on rock and winter grass, it feels like a perfect world.

Iruka swallows, as Kakashi turns the present around in his hands, and then glances up at him. “Thank you. Would you like me to open this now?”

“Go ahead,” Iruka nods, lifting the cup to his lips to take a sip.

Kakashi carefully tears the wrapping paper off the book, then reads the title, his eyebrow quirking up at the image of ropes that tastefully line the cover and wrap around the spine. “ _Silent is the Storm,_ huh?” He glances over to Iruka then, tilting the cover of the book in his direction. “Why, Iruka-sensei,” he drawls out a little dryly, “I rarely ever judge a book by its cover… But this looks like a rather naughty New Year’s present.”

Iruka flushes, and huffs. "Just because the title and cover is a little ostentatious, it does not make the story any less fulfilling. If anything, I think you might actually enjoy it. But if bondage is a little too much for you, and you prefer something more vanilla, then I'll take that back and replace it something more suitable." Iruka reaches over for the book, but much to his consternation, Kakashi immediately pulls the book out of his reach and says in perfect deadpan, “Really, Iruka-sensei, you shouldn’t give presents if you’re just going to take them back. It’s rather rude, you know.”

“Then stop teasing me and accept it quietly.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. You’re rather cute when you blush,” Kakashi says with a grin, as he slides the book into the sleeve of his haori.

“I seem to remember someone blushing and looking cute as well,” Iruka mutters, even as his cheeks burn hotter than the cup of tea in his hands. “Or did you forget?”

Kakashi makes a noncommittal hum and tugs his mask back up over his face. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you,” he complains with a slightly amused huff of breath, his eyes sliding off Iruka towards the Hokage mountain.

"It's not every day I get to win against the next Hokage. So no, I'm never letting that go. I'm quite proud of that victory! All jokes aside though…." Iruka reaches forward and presses a palm over Kakashi's knee, bumping him a bit with his shoulder. "I hope it'll be a good year for you. Happy New Year, Kakashi-san."

“Happy New Year, Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi returns with the softest of smiles curving the shadows of his mouth under his mask, and though the wind that blows through the trees and scrapes over them both should feel cold, all Iruka feels is the warmth blooming underneath his sternum. “I hope your wishes come true this year.”

  
*  
  


Iruka spends the rest of the day in a happy, warm daze, watching Kakashi with an open fondness he doesn’t bother to deny or hide. There’s something so relaxed about Kakashi now, so comfortable and so at home. If Iruka squints just a little, he’d think that Kakashi is truly happy.

They spend the afternoon watching the dogs play as they eat the osechi ryori Iruka had spent days preparing, and after, they read the mountain’s worth of New Year greetings cards that had been delivered to their gate in a bag. There’s an openness to Kakashi’s amused laughter, soft and so incredibly beautiful, when Iruka holds out the two ridiculous cards Naruto and Gai had sent.

If Iruka can have it his way, he’d want to spend every New Year’s morning exactly like this.

Iruka can’t take his eyes off Kakashi.

Doesn’t even try to anymore, as the sun begins to set, and Kakashi leans against the pillar of the engawa, Pakkun on his lap. For the first time in years, Iruka finds something small and brave daring to hope and dream about a future with someone.

It crosses Iruka’s mind for a second, to maybe address the love that had nowhere else to go but inside, drag it out to the light and maybe make Kakashi aware of it, maybe even hint at it, especially when they only have a couple of months left before their divorce is finalized.

Iruka doesn’t think he wants to separate anymore.

Doesn’t want to leave behind this house that is now a home.

Suddenly, the thought of going back to his small, quiet apartment seems so bleak, when here, with Kakashi’s warm, steady presence, Iruka’s world seems just a touch a brighter. Kakashi is everything Iruka will never have to worry about, because Kakashi cares like no other, would love like no other, and is loyal like no other.

Iruka will never have to worry about getting a fuuma shuriken to the back with Kakashi. He’ll never have to worry about Kakashi using his students as means to further his ambition, to step on anyone in the village for his own gain, especially when he’s already set to become Hokage. And even if he wasn’t, Kakashi is not the kind of man who would hurt someone intentionally in such a way.

Kakashi looks at him then, tilting his head in question, and Iruka can’t help but smile, as a small wave of courage swells in his chest. It’s faint and barely a spark, but for the first time in what feels like forever, Iruka feels the cynical part of him hush, and thinks maybe, he might have just found the right person to spend the rest of his life with.

Tomorrow, Iruka thinks, as he smiles at Kakashi and turns to look at the sunset, tomorrow he’ll be brave and maybe ask Kakashi out on a real date.  
  


*  
 

When Gai celebrates his birthday, it is nothing short of spectacular.

They arrive fashionably late to the party already going on full swing, with shinobi from all around the village celebrating both the New Year and Gai’s birthday at a rowdy bar, engaging in all sorts of drunken challenges.

(It wouldn’t be Gai’s birthday if challenges weren’t involved.)

Iruka spots a group already engaged in a drinking game, and another belching slightly off tune lyrics at the karaoke machine. It’s been a while since Iruka had gone to a party of this scale. Iruka is glad that he had agreed to come with Kakashi, and feels warmth continue to spread in his chest as they weave through the crowd to greet Gai and listen to his tearful speech of thanks, when Kakashi presents him with a small present wrapped in bright green packaging.

“What did you get him?” Iruka asks as they turn to queue at the bar.

“The hottest curry powder I could find,” Kakashi answers with a grin spreading under his mask, and Iruka’s laughter is loud and bright.

It shapes up to be a wonderful evening, with Kakashi looking relaxed as they nurse drinks and snacks, as Gai regales them with stories about their most exciting challenges. Iruka can’t recall a time when he’s laughed this much, trying to imagine Kakashi racing Gai on his hands across the village, or hopping around the village on one leg, or even attempting to win a gyoza eating contest.

It’s well past their first bottle of shochu when Iruka excuses himself to get more drinks, patting Kakashi’s knee with an amused smile. He hadn’t expected to run into Izumo and Kotetsu, and didn’t expect to get sidetracked into a conversation and a bit of ribbing for coming with his “husband.”  Iruka hadn’t meant to linger around his friends for so long; it’s only when someone tells him that he should join them for a karaoke challenge that he remembers he should be bringing back drinks. He tells them he’ll be back, that he’ll drop off the drinks, excuse himself from Kakashi’s company, and maybe he’ll join their game.

Iruka gets away with a lot of friendly ribbing, a lot of teasing.

He hasn’t quite made it back to Kakashi, doesn’t quite cross the remaining distance, when Genma appears seemingly out of nowhere, and far too casually — and drunkenly — drops himself in Kakashi’s lap, an arm looping around his neck, giving Kakashi a wide grin. Much to Iruka’s surprise, instead of shoving him off his lap, Kakashi just rolls his eyes.

“Kakashiiii,” Genma slurs a bit as his free hand pats Kakashi’s chest. “You know the best way to start off the New Year?”

Kakashi just gives him a bit of a withered look.

“With a threesome,” Genma declares with a very sloppy grin.

Kakashi snorts with amusement as he quirks a brow and looks up at Genma. “Does Raidou know you’re propositioning me?”

Genma’s fingers splay against Kakashi’s chest and then slide up to curl over his shoulder with the kind of familiarity that goes far beyond camaraderie between two comrades. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. It’s been a while, you know,” Genma says with a slight smirk and then leans in to murmur something that Iruka can’t quite hear over the din of the party and the music pulsing all around them. The loudness of the party fades to a distant ring as Kakashi’s mouth curves into an amused smirk under his mask, as he raises a hand and pats Genma’s knee, his response too quiet to make it over all the noise.

Something in Iruka cracks, spreading wide like spider veins on glass the longer he stands there. Suddenly, he’s twenty-one again, and watching who he had thought had been the love of his life get propositioned, how a pale hand had also patted a knee, sometimes a little higher up on the thigh, too. Iruka blinks and quickly turns around, tearing his eyes off something that isn’t quite his business, something he has no right to be upset or hurt about. Kakashi had a life, just as much as Iruka did, prior to this unfortunate arrangement.

That’s all it is — an arrangement, a compromised waiting period filled with moments that couldn’t have been real, no matter how much Iruka wants it to be.

The bottle of sake ends up at another table, as Iruka walks past the crowd and back to his friends, clapping them on their shoulders and forcing a grin to split his face. He takes Izumo’s glass and drains it, and then grabs Kotetsu’s glass and drains that, too. And when it does nothing to stop the gaping hole that is suddenly sitting far too wide in Iruka’s chest, the desperation grows. He doesn’t want to feel like this. Iruka had sworn to himself to never allow himself feel like he’s not worth someone’s time, which he realizes is stupid, because whatever he and Kakashi have isn’t even real.

Iruka repeats this to himself throughout the first round of drinks, and when it still doesn’t stop, Iruka knows he’ll need something stronger, something that’ll hurt. Something rough enough to make him forget about a man he’ll never be able to call his own.

He leaves the drinking game halfway, walking back to Kakashi with a flush brought on by alcohol burning high on his cheeks. Though Genma is no longer sitting on Kakashi’s lap, he’s still sitting a little too close for comfort. Kakashi glances up when Iruka leans over the armrest and pats his shoulder a little tipsily, rubbing the back of his own head sheepishly, as he greets the rest of the group at the table.

“Genma-san~ it’s been a while!” Iruka greets with a toothy grin.

“Yo, Iruka!” Genma slurs with a grin as he raises his drink, some of the beverage sloshing over the edge. “Come have a drink! Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year! Let’s hope it’s a great one, too!” Iruka shakes his head and gives him an apologetic look. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll actually be heading out early.” Iruka pats Kakashi on the shoulder, pointedly not meeting his gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Kakashi gives Iruka a long, assessing look, and then leans forward to set his drink down on the table. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” It comes out a little firm, a little strangled, as Iruka’s fingers tighten briefly on Kakashi’s shoulder.

Kakashi looks a little uncertain. “Are you sure?”

Iruka lets go of his shoulder and smiles toothily, doing his best to disarm Kakashi, to make him think that everything is fine. That he doesn’t need to follow Iruka out the door, when it’s the last thing Iruka actually wants. “It’s all right. Stay. It’s Gai’s birthday. Have fun. I insist!”

“Aw, come on, Iruka-sensei, you gotta stay for another drink! It’s the New Year! It’s not like you gotta work,” Genma chimes in rather loudly.

“Oh Genma-san, I figured _you_ would know that when you’re with Hatake Kakashi, the work _never_ stops.” The comment gets a sound of protest from Kakashi, and Iruka grins so widely, his jaw starts to ache. He doesn’t look at Kakashi, doesn’t look back either, when he bids them a good evening and takes his leave, disappearing into the crowd before Kakashi can change his mind about staying.

Iruka should have known better than to think whatever it is he and Kakashi had could be real, foolish to hope that it could mean something.

Kakashi was never meant to be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Kakashi and Tenzou have a no-strings-attached understanding.
> 
> Also, Genma is a drunken flirt whose shenanigans Kakashi humors, but Kakashi doesn't go home with him. 
> 
> \---
> 
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	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Soundtrack:**  
>  1\. [Thirty Seconds to Mars - Love is Madness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAsbpzOfJ9o)  
> 2\. [Thirty Seconds to Mars - Northern Lights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTKnSbFBIh8)

Snow falls quietly in Konoha on the second day of the new year.

It marks the first day of the fifth month of their marriage.

Kakashi tries not to keep count of the days. Tries not to think about what it’ll be like to leave this life they’ve built together and return to the impersonal privacy of their one bedroom bachelor apartments. Tries not to wonder what it’ll be like to wake up in the morning, and not have Iruka there in the kitchen, humming softly while stirring something fragrant on the stove; and maybe he might notice Kakashi and smile in that soft, tender way he sometimes does, before he says good morning.

Tries not to think about losing Iruka, because the truth is, Iruka never belonged to him.

So, he steps into a bar when Iruka said he wasn’t going to be home early. Going out with friends to celebrate the new year, he’d said. He wouldn’t be home for dinner.

A drink or two, and maybe some decent izakaya fare would serve as a good distraction — or so Kakashi had thought. What he doesn’t expect — walking in on Iruka kissing another man. Iruka has his hands in the other man’s hair, and Kakashi watches as Iruka drags his fingers down to clutch his partner’s neck.

Putting his desire for someone else — someone who isn’t Kakashi —  on display for the whole world to see.

It’s like a lightning bolt to the chest.

For a moment, Kakashi forgets how to breathe.

(And then he discovers that he still had something left to be broken inside of him.)

The flushed, happy smile on Iruka’s face that emerges as he pulls away from the other man is one Kakashi recognizes — Iruka smiled at him like that just the day before when he had come downstairs dressed in a kimono; blushed like that, as well.

(There was a part of him that thought maybe that smile was just for him, but he realizes just how foolish he had been to think that at all. Nothing of Iruka belongs to him, other than his name on a piece of paper.)

He watches as the other man reaches out and cups Iruka’s face, and watches as Iruka leans into the touch, and then realizes that he needs to get the fuck out of here before he makes a very bad decision and does something incredibly dumb, like punch the other guy clear through a wall.

And it’s at that moment that Iruka’s gaze drifts right over the curve of the other man’s shoulder and meets his own, eyes slowly widening in shock, as the smile fades from his face.

Kakashi stares for a long moment, expression broken, something thick caught in his throat, as everything inside of him seizes, a fist curling tight around the lungs. And then he raises up two fingers, and with a swirl of leaves, vanishes from where he stands.

Through the haze of countless liquor shots, Iruka wonders if he had really seen Kakashi. If Kakashi really had looked at him with a mixture of anger and shock and something else — something like betrayal, which doesn’t make _any_ sense.

For a moment, Iruka forgets the warmth of the body he's leaning against, barely recognizes the caress of calloused fingers as it trails up to his hair, tugging the ponytail free. He forgets why he's even here, as the longing in his chest manifests. The surrounding bystanders continue to move, like Kakashi wasn't just standing there, servers carrying trays, people laughing and stumbling — Iruka blinks and feels a hand on his face as he looks down at — what had been his name again? Tadashi?

What's wrong, Tadashi asks, and Iruka tilts his head to see the spike of light brown hair and dark eyes, a slightly lopsided grin and scars peeking out from the tanktop he has on. Tadashi is his type — tall and broad, with a smirk that makes his stomach flip, because it had reminded him of someone he wants but will never have.

Iruka blinks then, a sobering second, as he takes a good fucking look at Tadashi, notes the physical resemblance and laughs —  laughs at himself and how much of a goner he really is that even with alcohol, he's still thinking of Kakashi and seeing his ghost. Iruka tells him no, nothing is wrong, let's go.

He gets no relief or satisfaction that night.

Not really.

Not when the look on Kakashi's face remains fresh in his mind. Not when Kakashi's face is all he can see.

When Iruka goes home, he finds it empty and for a moment, he wonders if he really had seen Kakashi, or if it was simply a figment of his imagination.

The next night, he makes dinner like clockwork, all of Kakashi’s favorites — miso eggplant soup, salted grilled saury, rice and vegetables. Kakashi doesn’t make it home in time for dinner, which isn’t entirely out of the ordinary, so Iruka simply covers the plates and bowls with plastic film and leaves it all out on the counter.

But when he wakes up in the morning, the dishes are still there, untouched.

When three more meals are left untouched on the counter, Iruka starts to wonder if Kakashi is out on a mission so soon in the new year, even though he usually tells him when he won’t be coming home, or at least leaves him a note. Iruka stops leaving food out on the second day and instead, leaves a note on the fridge door that is hard to miss that says:

**_Welcome back, if I don’t see you — I hope it wasn’t a difficult assignment : )_ **

But then, Kakashi's rations start to disappear from the cabinets, and Iruka realizes that Kakashi's around but just not home at the same time as Iruka. His note also remains unanswered, which is so strange, because Kakashi would usually reciprocate in some shape or form. Even if its a quick and hasty henohenomoheji scribble at the corner of the note — Kakashi would always acknowledge it. Something about the lack of a response feels wrong. The days drag forward and the house remains empty, untouched, leaving Iruka with nothing but unease and his thoughts straying towards Kakashi and the look he on his face several nights ago, when Iruka had thought he’d imagined him up.

Iruka knows that look too well, understands it, what it may mean. He’s worn that look a few times all those years ago, when Mizuki’s gaze would stray in good fun, and Iruka didn’t know better because what fourteen or even sixteen or even an eighteen year old would know about commitment?

What Iruka doesn’t understand _why._

Iruka spends nights turning every why, what, and how in his head, spends most of his idle time turning the events of that night in his mind, and he comes up with nothing. Iruka understands physical needs. He may be armed with the knowledge of Kakashi’s physical needs, has heard them loud and clear, but that doesn’t change the fact that just because Iruka may have developed misplaced feelings for him, it doesn’t mean Kakashi feels the same way.

Logical reasoning tells him that perhaps, Kakashi is engaged in some form of special training, despite the holiday, or is taking short missions in between. It appeases the worry to some degree, but the nagging feeling of having done something wrong doesn’t go away.

(The only thing Iruka has done wrong is fall for a man that he had no business falling for at all.)

By the fifth day, Iruka starts to wonder if he'd even seen Kakashi at all that night, or if the shock and betrayal written all over Kakashi’s face had simply been a figment of his imagination. Something he wanted to see because that would validate the misplaced and extremely naive hope that Kakashi may want him back too.

Ten days go by and Iruka starts to feel a little obsessive, the feeling of having done something wrong eating him up like an infection, always looking out in the crowds for a flash of silver, or looking down hallways and stretching his senses out for any sign of Kakashi’s chakra signature.

It’s not a feeling Iruka likes having. He doesn’t like his insecurities over a relationship that’s not even a relationship taking over his waking hours. Because it has to be his fault, he’s sure he’s done something wrong this time that might have disappointed Kakashi. Iruka’s not sure when he had started to think that Kakashi might just be avoiding him, or when he’d started to cloak his chakra when he goes home in between his shifts, only to discover the depleted rations had been restocked.

Iruka sighs as he stares at the cabinet, shoulders drooping as he shakes his head and reaches up to close it.

He shouldn’t be fucking worried, he shouldn’t feel _guilty._

He doesn’t know why he is.

(There is no you and him, he tells himself. You are _not_ a _Hatake.)_

And maybe it’s because he wasn’t paying enough attention, or because he had his chakra cloaked; or maybe it’s because he didn’t actually know if he’d be able to catch Kakashi while he was home on his break, but Iruka almost misses the moment when the front door finally opens and Kakashi walks in, too caught up in the storm in his chest that he hasn’t felt in years, too lost in the wake of self doubt and insecurity that it’s his doing, it’s all his fault for falling short on _something._ It has to be. It’s the only reason Kakashi would be disappointed in him.  

It takes all of Iruka’s self-control to not just run out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Instead, he steps out of the kitchen, feet quiet and cautious, heart in his throat and eyes wide. He wonders if this is just another figment of his imagination, if the sound of the door was just the wind blowing it in because he hadn’t shut it properly behind him earlier.

But right there, standing in the genkan, is Kakashi — solid and real, with a pack hanging off one shoulder.

There’s something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hair droops into his face — something about the corners of his eyes that makes him look like he hasn’t slept in a week. He looks exhausted — dark bags under his eyes. A sort of weariness in the lines of his body, like he’d run himself ragged without a care. Iruka takes in the heavy set of his shoulders, how the lines around the corners of his eyes look deeper. He tracks his gaze down the length of Kakashi’s body, tries to gauge if he’s injured, as he takes a few steps forward to open his mouth in greeting.

Kakashi’s eyes snap onto him and darken almost immediately, like the sky just before a storm. Something sharp emerges around the edges. Something tense.

Iruka watches as the lines of Kakashi’s body rearrange into the stance of someone who looks like he’s going to war, and the greeting dies on his tongue. And when the change happens, it’s sudden — Kakashi closes up, the sharp edges of his expression smoothing out into something unreadable and cold. A lake frosting over in the dead of winter — nothing can be seen under the surface, under ice that thick.

Iruka takes a step back without realizing, the floor suddenly feeling like it has no traction underneath him.

Kakashi closes the door behind him and toes his shoes off in the genkan.

And then he proceeds to walk straight past Iruka, as though he’s not standing in the hallway looking at him.

Iruka catches a whiff of open fields and something deeper, muskier, like pine. He hadn’t realized what Kakashi's absence had felt like, up until that moment. How the air had seemed to go still until Kakashi had walked in, a cool breeze in the locked up stillness of the house. Without him, the house had felt far too foreign, almost impersonal.  

"W-Welcome back," Iruka says, turning as Kakashi steps into the kitchen, his feet carrying him to the doorway, heart thudding in his chest in a way it shouldn’t. The coldness of that look — it ignites fear, makes something in Iruka’s knees soften, as goosebumps break all over under his uniform. "You weren't home for a while — I was worried. Are you all right?"

“Fine.” Kakashi’s answer is curt, disinterested. Like talking to Iruka is the last thing he wants to do right now. He doesn’t look at Iruka when he responds, doesn’t bother to ask him how he’s been, either. Instead, he busies himself with opening the cabinet to pull out an entire week’s worth of rations and shoves it into his bag.

Which can only mean that Kakashi intends to leave again — and this time, he might not actually come back.

Iruka feels the pinch between his brows deepen, the quake in his chest traveling all the way down to his fingers as he clasps them tightly behind his back. It’s wrong. It’s wrong to feel this way. It’s Kakashi’s business if he chooses to stay or go. "You're leaving."

It's not a question, but it hangs between them like one. Kakashi had always mentioned if he was being sent away. Or at least, somewhere in their time together, he had started to share that information, even if it was in a form of a note.

"When will you be back?" Iruka asks, feeling his chest tighten more with every silent second that passes between them.

Kakashi doesn’t even bother to justify the question with a real response. He just shrugs, closes the cabinet, and starts to walk past Iruka again.  

And right then and there, Iruka is suddenly too young again, looking at longer silver hair and beautiful green eyes — the disappointment in them, the coldness in anger kept at bay with a locked jaw and muted words. Iruka is suddenly too small, too foolish. Doesn’t know any better when he reaches out to grab Kakashi’s wrist to stop him from leaving. It feels almost final, Kakashi’s footsteps as they walk away, the way those footsteps did all those years ago, too.

Countless times he had stood in a similar position just like this one.

Iruka remembers each time he would try to hold on just a little longer, to save a relationship that was never a relationship. Not to Mizuki. Apparently, not to Kakashi either. Iruka doesn’t realize how tight his grip is, how desperate he’s holding onto something he doesn’t want to lose because he’s too scared all of a sudden, even as he constantly reminds himself that he is not Kakashi’s husband. That there is nothing between them. That there never was. No matter how much he wanted to believe, or wanted, or _needed_ — there is nothing there. He should have known better.

“Please, wait…” Iruka says, voice hoarse, thick. “Don’t go. Not like _this…”_

Kakashi tenses immediately, his fingers clenching reflexively into a fist. Iruka waits for Kakashi to yank his arm out from his grip, waits for the fight that Iruka knows is coming, but he ends up just standing there instead — his breathing very controlled and steady, as though he’s counting each breath. A part of Iruka doesn’t know what that means. Doesn’t understand why Kakashi’s chakra feels so turbulent, either. He’s doing a good job controlling it, but it’s impossible to not notice, after living in such close proximity to him for five months, how _wrong_ it feels — like a storm brewing in a cloudless sky.

And when Kakashi opens his mouth next, Iruka suddenly understands why. “Not like what, Iruka?” The way Kakashi looks at him cuts straight through Iruka like a hot blade. “In case you forgot, you’re not really my husband. We’re not really married, or even in love. I don’t see how it’s any of your business whether or not I stay or go.”

_(But I am in love with you.)_

Iruka’s heart drops to the ground at the reminder, just as his fingers releases Kakashi’s wrist like he’s been burned, hand falling limply to his side.

“A-Ah,” Iruka manages, as his throat somehow loosens up to form words, words that Iruka tries hard to keep steady. “I apologize. I was out of line. Forgive me. I’ll be more aware of my place in the future. I would have appreciated if you told me if I had done something to upset you; it doesn’t matter. You’re right…”

Iruka knows now where he went wrong, what his mistake was.

He had fallen in love.

He should have known better. He should have been smarter, should have stayed away, should have cared little for petty little notes, and companionship that was never going to last. He should have known better than to believe in something that was never real, never going to be, because this was never a marriage. It’s an inconvenience. An absurd transitionary period.

Iruka should thank Kakashi for the cold reminder — of course, Kakashi is right. When is he not?

Iruka’s politeness and manners rise up like iron walls pushing up from the ground, as he dips his head the way he would when he would address the Hokage and says, “Be careful on your journey, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi doesn’t spare him another glance or another word. He walks past Iruka, and then out the door.

Iruka walks back to the kitchen, pressing his hands to the sink as he runs the tap and fills a glass of water to wash down ashy bitterness, as the burning fires of reality die down and he’s left with nothing but an empty house and a yawning distance between him and a man that he had no business falling in love with.

He wishes he could say he feels better when he drops the damn glass into the sink, wishes he feels better watching it shatter. He wishes he feels better when he slams his bedroom door behind him and spends the next few evenings trying to yank the clawing feeling out of his chest, trying to swallow past the tightness of his throat whenever he thinks of Kakashi and his receding back, trying to erase the love that had nowhere to go but inside, sitting there like an unwanted foreign object, that no amount of pain or pleasure could ever dislodge, no matter how much Iruka _tries ._

He doesn’t.

And it’s no one’s fault but his own.

 

 

*

 

On the first night away from home, the earth shatters under his hands.

Konoha’s training grounds are no stranger to violence, but there’s a raw fury here that cracks open the earth as Kakashi fights against a mirror image of himself — clone after clone popping out of existence each time his blows strike too hard.

(He drags out each kill long enough to make it count, and tries not to think about the sick satisfaction he gets from killing a reflection of himself.)

Maybe if he destroys enough of this little piece of earth, and puts his fist through his own face enough times in a row, he can forget about the way it feels every time he thinks about Iruka.

 

 

*

 

On the second night, he decides to pay Tenzou another visit.

He wants sweat. He wants breath. He wants to feel muscle giving away under his fingers to bruises. He wants to leave the shadows of himself in skin. He wants to taste the rawness of desperation that isn’t his own, to swallow it down until it fills him up and makes him forget the feeling that goes through his chest every time he thinks about Iruka.

He wants to not think about Iruka at all.

This time, when Tenzou walks through the door, pauses in the genkan and looks at him cautiously, and says, “Senpai, I wasn’t expecting you,” Kakashi sits up from his sprawl on Tenzou’s bed and closes his book with a click. Unlike last time, he hadn’t taken off his uniform, or pulled down his mask, only stripping himself of his weapons and gear, which lie on the floor next to the bed.

“Take off your clothes,” he commands, and the steel in his voice is like a whip in his hand. It’s there in his eyes, too, the way he looks at Tenzou like he fully expects him to follow the order. To lower his head. To obey.

There is a brief pause as Tenzou regards him, sees the tension and anger, something dangerous, even, but not completely unfamiliar. It takes a second too long, but wordlessly, as a flash of understanding comes and goes, Tenzou obeys. The hitai-ate comes off first, quietly set down on the table, as he reaches behind him and locks the door, wards buzzing in place.  
  
Tenzou strips almost mechanically, the flak jacket going first, followed by his weapon holsters and shoes. They lie on a small pile the door, until Tenzou stands there bare and defenseless, eyes dark and something muted in its depths, forcibly lax. That’s when he crosses the distance between them, uncaring and unflinching, stopping only when he’s half an arm’s length away, chin tipping up almost questioningly.

Kakashi’s eyes are darker than night as his gaze flows over the lines of his kouhai’s body, drinking him up. And if this were any other night, he might’ve stopped to appreciate him a little more and let his eyes linger on Tenzou’s collar bones before sweeping down his chiseled abs to his cock. He might’ve let a smirk curl across his mouth, might’ve crooked a finger in invitation.

But there’s a violence in his blood tonight, just under his skin. There’s a rage that’s far too large which doesn’t quite fit inside of him, and it’s pressing against his seams until it’s all he can feel — the lightning strike that had nearly shattered him where he stood watching Iruka kiss another man in public, where anyone could see. Putting his desire on display, without any consideration.

(Iruka probably didn’t even think of him. Didn’t even care enough to use discretion.)

It burns, dangerous and dark, as he raises his gaze back up to meet Tenzou’s, then gestures towards the floor before him with a nod of his head.

Tenzou drops on his knees, silent as a sentinel — he always is, never saying a word, never asking any questions during nights like these, when he offers himself up for the taking because it’s what Kakashi needs.

(This thing between them that has no name — this thing that started twelve years ago in the quiet of night when the shadows grew long and blood ran thick, and it was all they could do to break each other apart just to feel human again. It’s as much about trust as it is about surrender. Giving up parts of yourself to learn how to feel whole.)

Kakashi rises to his feet as he undoes his pants, and steps forward to close the space between them, a hand dropping into Tenzou’s hair as he tilts it back so that he can look down at him when he guides his cock to his mouth.

“Suck,” he commands, and Tenzou follows the order. His fingers are warm against Kakashi’s skin, actions perfunctory. There is no intimacy in the gesture, not even as he parts his lips, and Kakashi loses himself in the heat of his mouth as Tenzou strokes him into full hardness, pleasure coiling hot and furious inside of him until it’s the only thing he can feel. And it’s brutal —  the way his fingers twist in Tenzou’s hair as he plunges in deeper, hips snapping forward as he forces Tenzou to swallow him down, stealing his breath away.

Making him choke.   

He fucks his way to oblivion, losing himself in the act. Losing himself in someone he can trust with all the parts of him that he hides from the world. All the parts of him that are too broken, too ugly for anyone to hold.

 

 

*

 

Kakashi breaks Tenzou because it’s what he needs.

Tenzou lets him, because he understands.

In the end, Kakashi puts him back together again, and they lie in bed together in silence for hours. It’s how Tenzou wakes up, partially on his side with Kakashi’s forehead pressing against his shoulder, the length of his body against his back. He comes to consciousness quietly reaching up to rub his face, fingers tracing the bruise around his neck before he gently nudges Kakashi back, just to enough so that he can roll onto his back, eyebrows pinching at the sharp pain that suddenly flares. Kakashi had not been all too gentle, after all.

“You look like shit,” Tenzou says, closing his eyes and throwing an arm over his eyes.

Kakashi grunts in response as he shifts, hand sliding over the dark bruises on Tenzou’s hip that he’d left behind. Tenzou can feel Kakashi’s gaze on him, quietly assessing the damage he’d done. “You look worse,” he says, and Tenzou huffs a sound of amusement. “Do you need anything?”

It’s always like this with him.

Sometimes Tenzou wishes Kakashi wouldn’t act so fucking concerned after he pounds him into a million pieces. He sure wasn’t concerned when he was fucking him earlier with his hands wrapped around his throat, watching as Tenzou came in silence, with all the breath in his lungs choked out.

“You can tell me what pissed you off — I’ll feel a whole lot better then,” Tenzou mutters, sliding his hand off his face to stare at the ceiling, carefully pushing himself up to a sitting position, rotating his head to stretch his neck and shoulder.  He turns to look at him then, raising an eyebrow, not at all bothered by the bruises that will take days to heal, or the radiating, dull throb lingering around his hips and inner thighs from being spread too wide. “What got to you? Is the team okay?”

Tenzou knows how much those kids mean to Kakashi. The lengths he’d go for them, the guilt he carries for failing them.

Kakashi sighs as his gaze slides off Tenzou to settle on the shadows the tree outside his window makes on his wall. “The team is fine.” Tenzou watches as Kakashi attempts to do what he always does when he’s trying to protect himself — he closes up smoothly, pulls armor around himself. Stitches up any seams that might have started unraveling.

But Tenzou knows him far too well. Tenzou doesn’t listen to the words, he never does. He knows better than to give Kakashi what he is actually asking for, to listen to the words that’s leaving his mouth and believing it, taking it for the truth. After all, when it comes to deception and lies and hiding the truth, Kakashi is the best at it.  

“How’s our favorite sensei?” he asks, and apparently, he hit jackpot, because it’s impossible for Tenzou to not notice the way Kakashi suddenly tenses, when he’s lying naked in bed next to him.

“Also fine,” Kakashi says as he makes a show of yawning before he turns away, rolling over onto his other side, reaching down to pull the covers up to his shoulder. He tosses a glance Tenzou’s way as he settles underneath the blanket. “Are you planning on interrogating me all night, or do you want to try and get some sleep?”

“Relax, Senpai.” Tenzou waves a hand, maintaining his casualness. “Don’t you think it would be better to fuck him instead of coming all the way over here? As flattering as it may be? I mean, he’s not ugly.” Tenzou shrugs. “He’s really attractive. I’d fuck him if he was closer. Convenient, you know?”

Kakashi stiffens completely, and the breath that comes out of him is harsh. “Tenzou,” he says, voice strained. “Don’t.”

Tenzou raises both eyebrows at the reaction, studies the stiffness. “So you want to fuck him. But you’re not.” Tenzou isn’t even sure how it is even possible for his eyebrows to go higher. He huffs a laugh, amused. “You’re losing your touch, there. You’ve slept with half the village! Marriage has made you shy!”

Kakashi’s reaction is predictable. He sits up, pushes the covers off him, and starts to get out of bed. Tenzou knows if he doesn’t stop him, Kakashi will get dressed and walk out the door without another word.

“He doesn’t want you, does he?” Tenzou asks, sudden. “He’s not even interested!”

Kakashi freezes, and even in the dark, Tenzou can see the way his expression shatters — can hear the inhale of breath that sounds almost pained as Kakashi’s eyes snap onto him — dark, furious. “You’ve gone too far,” he says, and his voice is dangerously quiet.

“Does he _know?”_ Tenzou doesn’t even budge from his position on the bed, doesn’t flinch in the wake of Kakashi’s mounting anger, as he gets out of bed and grabs his pants. “Is he even aware? How bad you want him. Does he even know the effect he has on you? You may be ‘married’, but it’s not really a marriage.”

Kakashi’s anger radiates off of him in silent waves as he yanks on his underwear and pants, and then starts looking for his shirt. He doesn’t look like he’s stopping, so Tenzou stands, placing a hand on his forearm, a gesture to stop him, and calm the sharp jerking movements. Kakashi’s fingers immediately tighten into a fist.

“You’re angry.” Tenzou’s voice remains calm, even, not all disturbed. “Calm down.”

A tremble goes through Kakashi’s arm, and Tenzou thinks he’s going to yank his wrist out of his grip, but then Kakashi’s fingers relax, and his shoulders slump as his eyes drop. He looks defeated — it’s not a look that Tenzou has seen in a while on Kakashi’s face. Not like this.

There’s only one thing left in the guessing game. Tenzou knows its a shot in the dark, that if he gets it wrong, there’s not much else he can say to understand why Kakashi had come — and will continue to come — to him this way. Tenzou doesn’t like being involved in sticky situations, doesn’t like being involved in matters that have nothing to do with him. Or at least, getting involved without knowing what he’s walking into. It goes against everything he’s been trained to do, even if it is Kakashi, one of the few men in the entire village he can put his trust in.

“He’s with someone else, isn’t he?” Tenzou asks, the words quieter, and the way Kakashi’s brows pinch together, as his head bows slightly, all the fight going out of him, tells Tenzou everything he needs to know.

Tenzou’s never seen him like this before.

It’s not like Kakashi to be so fucked up just because he can’t be with someone. If anything, he usually doesn’t care enough to have much of a reaction at all. Kakashi’s never been the type to get attached, rarely ever sleeping with the same person twice, because he can’t stand emotional baggage. It’s easier to fuck someone and let them go, than it is to try to hold on, which Tenzou understands quite well.

It’s why their arrangement has always worked out so well for them — Kakashi knows that Tenzou would never expect anything from him, that he’d never ask for what Kakashi could never possibly give him.

(Men like Kakashi are too broken to know how to love.)

Tenzou had known that Kakashi was getting attached, but he hadn’t predicted this.

Couldn’t have ever seen it coming, certainly not with these circumstances.

Kakashi is in love.

“You’re separating soon. Once the papers are finalized. Is he really worth it?” Tenzou’s fingers slide off Kakashi’s arm, as he patiently waits for his response, watches closely for any of the minute shifts in his face and body language.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kakashi finally says, his voice barely audible, as he sighs and heavily sits back down on the edge of the bed. “He doesn’t want me, anyway.”

“If it doesn’t matter,” Tenzou says, as he tips his chin and takes a step back, “then you don’t have come here like this again.” It’s almost too cold and callous, the wording of it. Tenzou has never been one to dance around facts. “Get your head together, Senpai.”

 

 

*

 

_It wasn’t the kiss that broke him._

_It was his smile._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everything gets a whole lot worse before it gets better. 
> 
> (Also starting to realize that Thirty Seconds to Mars has far too many songs that fit the soundtrack.)
> 
> As a side note: yes, Kakashi is a dick in this chapter. And also a little hypocritical. But his issue is largely that Iruka did this so publicly, where anyone could see it (and that he didn't consider the fact that maybe Kakashi might walk in on it). 
> 
> \---
> 
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	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Soundtrack:** [A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera - Say Something](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTq3xW7_hCU)

Kakashi tries to take Tenzou’s advice to get his head together.

He focuses on training, on improving his new arsenal of jutsu. He blows up training ground after training ground, perfecting Shiden.

By the end of the first week, Kakashi had destroyed so many training grounds that Tsunade saw fit to send him on a mission to Suna to pay for the damage. If he continued at his pace, there soon wouldn’t be any training grounds left in Konoha.

He accepts the mission far too easily.

Maybe, when he’s away from it all, he can finally get Iruka out of his head.

(He hates that he can’t stop thinking about him, even when he tells his mind to stop. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Iruka’s face, smiling back at him. Kakashi wonders if he’s slowly going mad.)

 

*

 

It’s here, in the middle of the desert, under a desolate sky that goes on forever, that Kakashi realizes it doesn’t really matter, in the end.

He’s not sure why it had bothered him so much to begin with.

It’s not like Iruka was ever his.

Iruka can sleep with whomever he’d like, can do whatever he wants, and Kakashi really doesn’t have any right to get upset about it, so long as Iruka doesn’t bring it back to the sanctity of their home. It’s not like they’re really married, after all. And Kakashi knows that Iruka has needs he can’t possibly fulfill.

(He also knows he’d be a hypocrite if he had a problem with the idea of Iruka with someone else — it isn’t like he doesn’t also satisfy his own urges, with Tenzou, from time to time. It’s just that he’s far more discreet about it for Iruka’s sake. He never would have wanted Iruka to walk in on him with someone else.)

And though Kakashi doesn’t know what to call this thing they have — this thing of quiet moments, quiet smiles, and warm, steady companionship that makes Kakashi forget sometimes about the war that never ends — what he does know is this: he doesn’t want to lose it, whatever it is.

Kakashi knows a box of Iruka’s favorite stuffed dates from Suna won’t erase the hurt in Iruka’s eyes the day he walked out the door. And he knows that things will never go back to the way they were before. There are only two weeks left of this arrangement, after all. In two weeks, they’ll be able to finalize the divorce, move out and never look back on this house they’d called a home.

But, he doesn’t want this chapter of their lives to end with that look in Iruka’s eyes. Though he doesn’t know if he’ll ever figure out the word to define what they are, he thinks, at the very least, he’d like to try to make things right.  

The house is quiet and dark when Kakashi enters, and it seems that Iruka isn't home. He toes off his shoes in the genkan, and heads into the kitchen, setting the box of dates down on the counter. Maybe tomorrow morning, over cups of coffee and breakfast, Kakashi can apologize for being cruel.

 

*

 

In the quiet stillness of the house, the front door shutting sounds far too loud. It echoes throughout empty hallways, and reverberates between Iruka’s ears, as he stumbles and giggles drunkenly. He chokes on his own breath as he kicks his shoes off and stumbles down the hallway, as hands roam down the length of his body, tugging at his shirt and untucking it completely. In the dark, Iruka navigates down the familiar hallway and up the steps, jerking and groaning when a palm lands rather sharply on his ass. Before he knows it, he’s being pinned against the wall with his shirt pulled off, a breathless laugh leaving him as he stares up at the ceiling to offer up his throat as hot lips and teeth graze over his Adam’s apple.

“You are so goddamn impatient. My bed is right there~” Iruka laughs as he is pushed further against the wall and kissed, a fist curling in his hair.

“And you’re fucking wasted. Do you even know how you look like right now?”

Iruka moans, as his hitai-ate and hair tie falls to the floor, just as his hand, the one that’s been trying to divest Tadashi of his shirt, finds itself slammed hard against the wall. “Won’t be as wrecked as you once I have your mouth on my cock,” Iruka insists breathily. “I’m gonna fuck that little mouth of yours so, _so_ hard, you’ll come without me touching you~”

“Sensei,” Tadashi chuckles, the title rolling like honey past his lips. “You’ve got a fucking filthy mouth.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me. I don’t like being disappointed,” Iruka snarls.

Kakashi freezes and listens from behind his bedroom door, and wishes he never got out of bed when he had heard the front door slamming shut just moments ago. He can hear it all, far too clearly — everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s always known he could never have. He doesn’t know how he could have been so foolish, how he could have believed that there might have been something lingering in the air between them, something that made the fire inside him _roar._

He had wanted to believe that maybe, even if he wasn’t sure how to name it, even if he didn’t know if he wanted the definition, that he hadn’t imagined it, hadn’t somehow dreamed it up — the possibility of Iruka wanting him, the way Kakashi has wanted Iruka for the past few months.

Suddenly, he realizes that this was a terrible mistake — he never should have come back at all, should’ve left Iruka this house, and counted down the days till the end. He should have known, should have expected, that maybe Iruka would eventually bring someone else home. He should have understood that he would never be the one Iruka wanted to hold.

He realizes then just how _foolish_ he was to think Iruka might have really cared at all.

Maybe Iruka cared enough to make sure he didn’t bleed out on his bedroom floor. Cared enough to cook dinner just about every night and breakfast most mornings, and tell Kakashi about his day, and laugh with him about his students, and sit next to him on the weekends to watch yet another silly, romantic drama playing out on the television, while the afternoon sun poured in through the sliding doors. Maybe he cared enough to flirt sometimes, to let himself get just close enough, but not enough to count. And maybe he cared enough to try his best to make their living situation as comfortable as possible, to make sure they weren’t just two strangers sliding between the empty spaces in a house that was far too large, like ships in the night passing without ever seeing the other.

But he sure didn’t care enough about what Kakashi might have thought, or how he might have felt about bringing someone else into this house that Kakashi had started to call _home_.

(Home was a place of bright, gentle smiles and the smell of oranges and cinnamon and sun-warmed skin. Home was where Kakashi could pull down his mask and take off the armor he wore to hide from the rest of the world. Home was the taste of Iruka’s cooking, which Kakashi mistook as something like love. Home was Iruka, but Iruka was never Kakashi’s, so this was never really his home.)

And Kakashi stands there, bathed in the sounds of breath and roaming hands and hungry mouths just beyond the door. Stands there and understands just how wrong he was, how blind, to have read in the shape of Iruka’s smiles and words something that never was; to have thought that maybe Iruka actually wanted something — even if it was just companionship — from him, in return.

He’s reminded then that Iruka really didn’t want anything at all, other than a divorce.

Didn’t want anything at all, other than this — another man, who is either incredibly stupid or has a death wish to think he has the right to fuck Iruka under Kakashi’s roof.  

He slams his bedroom door open, and takes in the sight of Iruka pinned against the wall, mouth gasping into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss of tongue and teeth that breaks apart in shock as both men’s eyes snap onto him in surprise.

It’s sudden, when it comes — pure, white rage like lightning coursing through his blood.  

Kakashi can’t stop what happens next — the devastating shockwave of killing intent that pours out of him like an exploding star. And before he knows it, he has the other man by the throat, and tears him off Iruka, slamming him against the opposing wall with such violence, it cracks behind the other’s back, the house shuddering violently with the motion.

The fear in the other man’s eyes is as palpable as the hot, white rage boiling beneath Kakashi’s skin, his chakra churning fast and dangerous, like the ocean during a storm.

 _“Get out,”_ Kakashi growls, as he releases the hold he has on the other man, whose hand flies to his throat, coughing for air as he slumps against the wall. And then, without daring to _look_ at Iruka again, the interloper lifts up his fingers into a seal and shunshins himself out of the house, leaving behind a swirl of leaves that silently fall to the floor.  

Iruka remains frozen, staring at the aftermath of the violence that had unfolded before him as shock and confusion turns into a choking breath that can’t seem to get past the tightness of his throat. It is completely sobering, the rage that makes his knees weak, makes his heart race in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. The world around him goes silent, as he remains frozen like the rest of the house in the wake of Kakashi’s palpable killing intent. It’s enough to make Iruka feel _weak_ in his joints, enough to render him immobile, like he’s paralyzed and has no feeling anywhere in his body, leaning far too heavily against the wall.

Nothing except the fear _pounding_ under his ribcage.

Iruka realizes that he had allowed it all to happen, and that’s when something snaps. It ignites like a raging forest fire, all consuming and uncontrollable. The visceral rage bubbles up like smoking acid, raw, ugly, and hot enough to make strength return to his body, as he pushes himself from the wall and crosses the distance between himself and Kakashi. He looks at him with eyes that hide nothing, not the bitterness from a week ago, nor the guilt of thinking of what he had done to upset Kakashi. Kakashi himself had said it, hadn’t he?  

_(You are not my husband. We are not really married. We aren’t in love.)_

“Did you _really_ have to do that?” Iruka asks, the flush blazing red from his chest all the way up to his cheeks, teeth grinding down so hard that his jaw hurts. “Who the hell do you think you are!”

For a long moment, Kakashi doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look at Iruka, does nothing at all. It’s a terrible silence that opens between them, like the calm before a storm.

Kakashi can feel it in his chest — lightning held in abeyance in the distance, waiting to strike.

He tells himself to breathe, to stay controlled. Tells himself that he refuses to be weak, or be vulnerable. To let Iruka see underneath the underneath, even when he feels like he’s shattering.

“Ah, I suppose I didn’t, but I don’t particularly like being woken up to the sound of a stranger trying to fuck you in my hallway.” Somehow, Kakashi manages to deliver the line without any inflection — it’s flat, emotionless, indifferent. It’s only then that he turns his head slightly, to glance at Iruka over his shoulder.

He takes in the sight of Iruka — hair tousled, shirtless, flush still bright on his cheeks.

It takes all of Kakashi’s training to keep his gaze steady. To not flinch away from the sight. “If I had known that you planned to bring strangers home to fuck you, I never would have let you continue to live under my roof.”

“I didn’t want to live under your goddamn roof! Stripped of my choices in every way that matters! To have my home taken away! You’re not my husband! We’re not really married! Those were _your_ words! So why the _hell_ are you talking to me like you’re _my husband?”_ Iruka snaps, gesturing at the hallway, at the cracks in the wall. “Explain _that_ to me!”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” Kakashi’s voice comes out dark and low, as his jaw clenches underneath his mask.

“Of course you don’t! And don’t I fucking know it!” Iruka turns around and picks up his shirt from the floor. “Why did I even ask? How foolish of me! I should know better!” Iruka is stalking down the hall, heading for his room, gravel in his voice. “Maybe the ‘we’re not in love’ bit only applied to you. Not that it fucking matters! No amount of strangers _fucking me_ and nothing short of Shintenshin would work in making that statement true! So that little accusation you threw at my face is wrong!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Iruka stops in the middle of the hallway, breath stuttering in his lungs, as he turns to look Kakashi in the eyes, and sees the rage reflected on the surface of his gaze, even when everything else is immaculately, immeasurably smooth. Iruka opens his mouth to speak, to tell Kakashi to take his concern and shove it where the sun doesn’t fucking shine, feels the words form halfway, sputtering out somewhere in his throat before something else come out strangled, something vulnerable peeking out from underneath all the rage.

“I’m in love you…” he says, his eyes widening as he swallows and shrugs helplessly, chokes out  a laugh bitterly at the words. “And I don’t know how to stop. I mean... I’m trying.” Iruka gestures at the crack on the wall. “I am so, _so_ in love with you, Kakashi.”  

The words flow out of Iruka’s mouth and slam into Kakashi where he is unarmored, where he is most vulnerable.

Just when he thought there wasn’t anything left of him for Iruka to break, there it is — a fist wrapping around the parts of him that are soft, choking until he has no breath left, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever known. He wonders if Iruka knows how terrible it is to hear such devastating lies being formed by such a beautiful mouth. Wonders if Iruka really thinks Kakashi is so foolish, that he would fall for this kind of emotional manipulation, if he would really believe such lies.

But they both know the truth — Iruka doesn’t really love him, and never did.

(Kakashi doesn’t even know if what they had was even real, or if Iruka was just pretending, all along.)

His eyes narrow, darkening to soot. “If you’re going to lie because you want to try and justify how you have any right to break my trust and violate my privacy by bringing someone into my house without first asking me if I’m comfortable with that idea, you really should find a better excuse.”

He stalks forward, closing the gap between them, and in a flash, has Iruka by the jaw, thumb and two fingers firmly gripping his chin, yanking it up so that Iruka’s forced to look at him and nowhere else.

“Let me make it very clear, because you don’t seem to understand. This _is_ my house. I wasn’t given it for free. I earned it, which is something you didn’t do. And you brought someone here, someone I don’t know or trust, without my consent, because you felt entitled.” Kakashi leans in then, so close that their noses practically touch, breath ragged.

Silence stretches out between them, raw and terrible, like the look in Kakashi’s eyes.

And then a tremble goes through his arm and into the fingers curled around Iruka’s chin as Kakashi’s thumb slowly ghosts over the ruddy swell of Iruka’s lower lip.  

What he says next comes out in a whisper, as broken as his expression and his voice. “For someone who claims to love me, you sure have a cruel way of showing it. If this is how you demonstrate your love for me, then _I don’t want it.”_

Iruka wrenches his chin free from the grip and _shoves_ Kakashi backwards, taking steps back and staring at him in stunned silence, eyes wide and brimming with tears that he viciously wipes back as he takes a step back, and then another.

Kakashi swallows hard as he tears his eyes away, and he steels himself for what he has to do next. “Pack up your things,” he says, sounding as raw as he feels, and the tremble in his voice is unmistakable. “Get out. Don’t be here when I get back.”

And just like that — he’s gone, leaving behind a snap of fading chakra and the scent of ozone in the air, and the ghost of his fingers on Iruka’s chin and lips.  

Iruka doesn’t waste a moment longer.

He doesn’t hesitate when he clears up his belongings and gets out of the house he was forced to live in, just because his name was moved under someone else’s in the family registry. He never wanted the house; never wanted to be with Kakashi to begin with, when he doesn’t remember _why_ they even got married in the first place. He never wanted to be someone else’s burden, to carry someone else’s name — not like this.

Not in this fucking way.

So he packs his things and doesn’t dare look back. Erases his presence like he was never there to begin with. He leaves the new box of dates in the fridge, his new indulgence and favorite snack, no thanks to Kakashi — unable to make himself throw it away, when he empties the contents of the fridge of anything that had belonged to him. His place was never in this house, his name never belonged to the Hatake clan, and he was never, _ever_ going to be Kakashi’s. No matter how much he tries to change it, or how much he wishes for it, or even when he finally admits it out loud.

Kakashi shouldn’t have had to ask him to leave. He should have left from the beginning. Avoided all this from the very start.

The saying is true, Iruka thinks — grief is the price one pays for love.

Because it doesn’t matter if he’s in love with Kakashi, or if a part of Kakashi might have loved him back.

They should have never been forced to be together like this.

And when he finds sanctuary in an inn on the outskirts of town, when he locks the door and finds himself shrouded in the dim light of the small room, tears cut down his cheeks, burning trails that he swipes away viciously, and he asks himself, why are you feeling hurt over this?

Why are you upset over something that was never in your control to begin with? Why do you cry over a man who not only doesn’t want your love, doesn’t believe you, but will never understand how it burns you to be called entitled, when you aren’t entitled to anything at all? Not the house, not the name, not the marriage that is a lie, not the quiet moments that you were stupid enough to fall for?

When it burns you to be a prisoner to someone else’s name, someone who reminds you that you’re not married? You’re not my husband, he says. Why do you cry over a man you had no business falling for, when you should have just waited out the six months, when you should have been brave enough from the begining to find a home elsewhere, you should have found a way to stay the fuck away from Hatake Kakashi, because the rumors are fucking true — he doesn’t do commitments. You should have found a way to make ends meet if you had to.

(Mizuki had been right about one thing: you’re a fool, Iruka.)

Iruka scrubs the sleeves of his shirt violently over his eyes and grits his teeth, as anger, frustration, and bitterness shapes into a strangled growl in the base of his throat. He thumps his head against the door and pressing his fists against his eye sockets. He curses when the tears don’t stop. And when he opens his mouth to scream, like how he had wanted to all those months ago when he was stripped of his name, told to leave his home and everything that had been his behind, no sound comes out.

His mouth just trembles silently, and he cries.

Iruka hates himself for feeling this helpless. Hates himself for allowing this all to happen when he should have known better.

_(Because the truth is, I still love him, I still want him, and I don’t think I’ll ever know how to stop.)_

 

*

 

When dawn presses over the night sky, Iruka realizes that Kakashi was right.

He should have never violated his privacy, even if he had thought that Kakashi wasn’t going to be home. No matter how goddamn drunk he was, or how persuasive his partner for the night might have been, that was an unforgivable mistake Iruka didn’t have _any_ excuse for.

Iruka never had the right to make that decision.

Kakashi can hurt him all he wants on that one point and Iruka will take it, because he isn’t that much an insensible fool to not realize his own mistake. He knows that betraying someone’s trust is the worst thing you can do — once trust is broken, it’s hard to rebuild.

Except it still feels like that’s not his only mistake. It still feels like he had done something wrong before. Iruka still can’t figure _that_ one out.

 

*

 

It's probably better it happened this way.

On the first long walk to the Academy, Iruka realizes how impersonal and almost empty his life really is — just like the empty, snowy roads he leaves footsteps in, that he knows will fade in a few hours. It hadn’t been all that difficult to get back into the routine of being alone — it’s how he had lived the last eighteen years of his life. Iruka realizes just how warm the house he had shared with Kakashi had been, how fulfilling it was to live for someone else. He had forgotten how that even felt like, coming back to a home.

Because while Iruka leads a fulfilling career, he had nothing and no one to go home to.

Kakashi had given him that.

And now Iruka doesn’t even know if he can ever wash that feeling away, remember how to live alone all over again.

Iruka stops at the gates of the Academy, breath misting as he adjusts the scarf around his neck.

No, he thinks, Kakashi didn't mean to give him anything.

Iruka counts the days left before their divorce is finalized in hopes that it will make it easier to adjust and go back to a life he is more familiar with. He volunteers for longer shifts in the mission room that he knows will run him ragged, but that's okay. It'll surely make the days go by faster, and most certainly should blur the past. Staying busy will also stop his thoughts from straying towards someone he’ll never have.

The walks home are long, and bitterly cold.

Iruka decides that Konoha's winter this year is the worst one he's seen.

 

*

 

Iruka thinks that the reason he feels a touch dizzy and a little disoriented as he steps out of his room and into the bitter cold outside is because the past four days into his new shift and routine had been brutal. He thinks that the headache pounding at the back of his head is just from fatigue from the amount of numbers he's been crunching over the mission desk. Something at breakfast isn’t sitting well with him, and Iruka thinks it might have been the milk in his coffee.

His discomfort is probably the reason why he is unprepared when he suddenly feels a presence rise behind him, menacing and far too large. It is probably the reason why his reaction had been too slow, why the  elbow jab had missed, and the kick blocked. Iruka catches sight of the person who had approached him, a man who stands a head taller than him, no visible hitai-ate, possibly a rogue-nin. Iruka channels enough chakra to dodge the blows, dropping his bag into the bushes when he is forced to fight back.

His weapons end up scattered in the area, missing their target, because his attacker is a lot faster. A lot stronger. Better. And Iruka’s reflexes feel far too sluggish, too uncoordinated, as his world turns blurry and hazy around the edges from what can only be from a drug he must have unknowingly consumed.

He never stood a chance when he a sharp pain radiates down the back of his head and thick powerful arms circle around his middle.

And as his world goes dark, all Iruka can see are the faces of his students, Naruto’s toothy grin, and the soft curve of Kakashi’s smile.

 

*

 

When he wakes up, Iruka is on a chair, hands tied behind his back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair, the foul taste of copper sharp in his mouth. His head pounds, black spots strobing at the corners of his gaze. He tests his bindings and finds them to be far too tight, and discovers that his weapons, utility belt and flak jacket had stripped from him. He attempts to channel chakra, but discovers that he isn’t able to, attempts to struggle in the chair, but the effort is futile — it’s bolted to the floor.

He’s not sure how long he’s been out. It’s hard to tell what time of day it is, when everything around him is dim and there are no windows in the room. Iruka takes a careful look around, trying to figure out how he can get out of this when he has his chakra sealed, and can’t reach any of his weapons.

He looks up to find his attacker seated across from him, elbows on his knees, as he taps a kunai against his thigh idly. Iruka tries to recognize him and fails.

"You're wasting your time," Iruka mutters.

His kidnapper says nothing.

The door on the far end of the room is imposing and large, made out of dense metal. From what Iruka can tell, the walls are thick stone, and there’s a certain clamminess in the air, a kind of mustiness that can only mean they’re underground somewhere.

Iruka isn't even sure why he's been kidnapped. He doesn't have access to special information, his rank certainly doesn’t make him privy to certain missions or records or individuals; he spends most of his time at the Academy, and the rest of it in the mission room. He racks his brain for anything that might stand out, anything that might want to make rouge-nin go after him. A part of him wonders if they're doing this because they want to take the children, if they're planning to take Konoha's youth for their own gain.

But then, he would hardly be the person to take if that is the case.

The door opens shortly thereafter, and a heavy metal cart is pushed in by a man who looks as tall as he is strong — arms so thick Iruka thinks they’re probably the size of his thigh. Another man trails after him — thin, reedy, with dark, piercing eyes. There’s something about his face that looks uncomfortably familiar, like maybe Iruka had seen him somewhere before. He just can’t remember _where_.  

“Is this the husband?” the guy with beady eyes ask, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

“Yeah. That’s him,” Iruka’s attacker replies.

Iruka suddenly realizes, with a sinking feeling, just why he’s here. _Husband_ , he said. Which can only mean that they came after him because of Kakashi.

He closes his eyes then, and shakes his head; out of all the things he had imagined going through when he woke up in that hotel room with Kakashi all those months ago, _this_ had never crossed his mind.

"You are definitely wasting your time. He is _not_ my husband. That was a mistake. We don't even live together." Iruka huffs a humorless chuckle, almost bitter. He looks at his attacker, and swallows dryly when he sees nothing but an eerily blank expression as cold as it is calculating. "You must have seen. How long have you been observing me?"

His attacker blinks and tilts his head. He doesn't respond.

" _If_ you've done your homework right, then you know you're wasting your time," Iruka insists. "We are not married. He is not my husband. If it's Kakashi-san you're after, you've picked the wrong guy to lure him out with. He is _not_ coming. I mean _nothing_ to him. At most, Konoha loses a teacher. Which they can easily replace.”

The squeak of the cart's brakes locking into place makes Iruka turn to look at the smaller man, watching his thin shoulders shift as scarred hands carefully begin to unwrap instruments that makes Iruka draw one conclusion. It's enough to make dread settle at the pit of his stomach, as all the color drains from his face, and his blood runs cold. In the dim lighting, he catches a better look at the man's face, taking in a large defining scar on his jawline and a crooked left earlobe.

It hits him like a sharp blow to the gut.

He'd seen his face in the Bingo book — S-class nin from Kusa, a traitor well known for his medical expertise. He was rumored to have been part of the Torture and Interrogation team, had taken part in unsanctioned practices on Kusagakure's prisoners. Rumor also had it that he had some kind of special bloodline limit that made him exceptionally _good_ at it.

Yaite — that is his name.

If the rumors are true, like his name, he burns his victims alive when he’s done with them.

Iruka is powerless to fight the fear that grips him then, when he realizes that there's a high chance he's not going to survive this. That even if Konoha notices one of their ninjas had disappeared, dispatching a team might be too late. Goosebumps break all over his shoulders, crawling all the way down his back and stomach, when he feels Yaite's hands cup the back of his head, thin, steady fingers tugging his hitai-ate free, before they drop down to trace the side of his jaw.

Iruka isn’t able to stop the flinch and look of defiance that cuts across his face, when Yaite yanks his face upwards, forcing Iruka to meet his gaze. The fingers that touch the line cutting across the bridge of his nose feels far too invasive and Iruka has to _force_ himself to keep still, to not just jerk his chin out of Yaite’s grip, to not show how truly nervous he is right now.

“He’s an interesting choice for the Copy-nin, isn’t he?” Yaite’s voice has the quality of spiders, crawling over Iruka’s skin. It's enough to make bile rise to his throat and his lungs seize, breath wedged like a blade somewhere in his chest, unable to come out.  “Very pretty. Maybe a little too soft. I wouldn’t have ever imagined Hatake Kakashi would be attracted to something like _this.”_

“I am _not_ his,” Iruka says, gritting his teeth. “He is _not_ coming for his _husband.”_

“He will,” Yaite says, as his finger strokes over Iruka’s scar, and then he straightens up and looks Iruka in the eye with such conviction, it makes Iruka question his own belief. “He _will.”_

"Maybe," Iruka says, and finds the strength to _wrench_ his chin free from Yaite's hands. "Maybe he'll come. And maybe he'll be late. Maybe I'll be dead before he does. But Konoha never forgets. Kakashi will _not_ forget. You don't fuck with his comrades, his _people,_ and expect him to look the other way. So maybe he'll come," Iruka says, and for a few seconds, he feels stupidly brave. He doesn't know where it comes from. "And when he does, you are all _so fucked."_

And if it isn't Kakashi, Iruka knows, deep in his heart, that Naruto wouldn't stand idle.

A sickening smile spreads across Yaite’s face, revealing a mouthful of crooked, yellow teeth. He grabs Iruka by the face again, and this time, his fingers dig into Iruka’s cheek and jaw. “ _There he is,_ ” Yaite hisses, sounding triumphant. “I see now why he chose you. But don’t worry, Iruka. You won’t die until he arrives. And when he does, I’ll kill you slowly in front of him, just like he killed my wife.”

"Do your fucking worst," Iruka fires back. It’s an empty threat. He understands loss, he understands anger that stems from loss. He understands how it can change a man, kill everything that's good in him, no matter how small, and turn them into a monster. And Yaite is the worst there is. Iruka just isn't sure if he's been a monster all along, or if he was forced to become an uglier one after the death of his wife.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Yaite snarls, and drags his fingers down the side of Iruka’s face. “I most certainly will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything explodes.
> 
> \---
> 
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	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** heavy physical, mental, and genjutsu torture, along with extremely graphic depictions of violence, blood, vomiting, and attempted suicide. If you can't handle graphic depictions of violence and torture, we recommend skipping the majority of the chapter, or skimming through the chapter for the parts that aren't torture. A summary will be provided in end notes which you can read instead.
> 
>  _Soundtrack:_ [Thirty Seconds to Mars - End of All Days](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyEF7fWOrEc)
> 
>  
> 
> _All we need is faith_  
>  _Faith is all we need_

Iruka remembers Ibiki standing on the podium on the final day of their basic training for interrogation and torture. He remembers the lecture vividly as he jerks with each pound of a fist against his flesh, each crack and strain of bone under brute force.

“Most torturers begin with roughening up their targets. They'll beat you down,” Ibiki had said, “make you think that it's the only pain you're capable of feeling. Rookies usually don't go further than that. If you have a chance to escape, this is the best time to do it.  Because if they're not rookies, and they know what they're doing, your window of opportunity to escape shrinks by sixty percent after the first round of beating. It's not the beating you should be wary of — it's what comes after.”

The hard surface of the cold floor smacks against Iruka’s bleeding cheek, blood squelching from his nose and mouth as his arms are released from the hold and he is dropped unceremoniously on the ground. The taste of blood is nauseating, enough that it makes his stomach seize, as blood and acid comes retching out of his mouth. He gets a few seconds to struggle like a fish out of water to breathe, white hot pain radiating down his entire side — cracked ribs, he thinks. Or possibly something more. He doesn't dare move from his spot on the floor, using the time to gather his strength and remember the distance between himself and the door.

Iruka stares through the crimson haze of his swollen, split eyelids at the spreading pool of blood on the floor, taking in slow, calming breaths, feeling the ground underneath him, trying to understand his surroundings better, listening for sounds beyond the walls and doors, airflow, footsteps, maybe even what lies beyond — _anything_ _._

He looks up from his vantage point at the captor closest to him — the huge, hulking monster of a shinobi who looks more like a bear than a man, and watches as he turns his back on him for just a second.

Iruka hears Ibiki's voice in his hear: _now_ _!_

Iruka gathers every ounce of strength he can manage before kicks back sharply, hearing bone crunch as Bear's bulk staggers. The kick that follows to his kidnapper's side is strong enough to knock the wind out of him.

It takes three seconds for him to get up and cross the distance from the floor to the door. It takes another five to bolt down the hall, trusting his instincts as he follows the smell and feel of airflow, breathing in the musty surrounding until he finds stairs. Right there, at the top of it, he can almost smell the sweetness of the fresh air beyond.

Iruka gets to see the sun for no more than a few minutes. With his chakra sealed, and his gear stripped, his speed and ability to fight back is severely compromised. He ducks into the shadows of the trees, just as Bear hunkers past him — loud, stomping, angry. Iruka’s eyes close and he goes as still as the forest around him, lungs stopping as he spreads his senses out. He waits a good minute, sensing Bear and his kidnapper disappear further down east, where Konoha would be, judging from the direction of the sun.

Iruka inhales carefully before he decides to go the other way, throw them off his back, or at least long enough to find an allied border patrol to assist him with the chakra seal.

But no sooner than he manages to take a few steps, he turns straight into Yaite's hanging face, yellowed teeth pulled back into a grin. Yaite clicks his tongue in disapproval, and everything in Iruka freezes, plummeting to the core of the earth.

Iruka doesn't get very far then, his fist punching nothing but air.

Yaite's bony palm slams down the center of his back, a blast of controlled chakra stunning him and making fall to the ground like dead weight, choking on his own breath as hands come up to try to rip that suffocating feeling off his throat, a futile struggle. The earth underneath him is rough as Yaite drags him across the forest by his hair and all he can think is no, no, no, _fuck no.  
_

Iruka has felt fear before, has seen it in the shape of a giant monster tearing through Konoha, swallowing people whole.

But this fear is something else.

It’s cold and icy, nothing like the fire and ash he remembers from over a decade ago.

Iruka falls down the stairs with a staggered cry, curling in on himself as bones crack and dislodge out of place. Bear suddenly appears, picks him up like he weighs nothing, and a pained cry tears helplessly out of Iruka’s slack jaw, fear making him scramble and resist as Iruka desperately watches his window of escape disappear completely from his line of sight.

He is unceremoniously dropped onto a metal table, his kidnapper holding him down by the shoulders, Bear pinning him down by the ankles. Iruka tries to break free, still struggling from whatever the hell Yaite had hit him with, protests coming out in grinding, desperate, half-gurgled noises.

He sees something thick and sturdy in Yaite's hand, sees the glow of chakra wrap around it.

When the weapon comes down, Iruka hears the bone shatter in his right leg.

He screams.

 

*

 

Someone once told him that drowning is painless.

Iruka knows now that it is the biggest lie he's ever been told.

They don't really tell you what it feels like —  when you can't hold your breath any longer and your lungs feel like they’re made of blades that swell outwards in an attempt to burst and saw through the prison of your rib cage. They don't tell you that apnea makes thought leave you like the water that sloshes around the edges of the basin, logic and reasoning dripping and splashing onto the floor, as you start to thrash against the tight hold of your captors pushing your head down, down, down. They certainly don't tell you how you become directionless in those few seconds, how you can't say which way is up or down, what is left from right.

They don't warn you how you'll forget that you should be holding your breath.

Because you will breathe.

They don't tell you that you will end up opening your mouth, that the water tainted crimson from cuts and blood still dripping from your nose will fill your lungs, flooding the cavity of your mouth and throat. They don't tell you how badly you'll want your hands to be free, so you can reach for your throat and clamp it shut yourself, seal that airway with your fingers just so you can stop the involuntary reflex of breathing.

But you can't stop it.

You are powerless.

Even when you grit your teeth, scrunch your eyes shut. Even when you feel the air bubbles rise around you. _You can't do shit._

Because this is the part that truly hurts.

This is the part where your body reacts to try to defend itself. You remember reading about it, somewhere in the reference books — laryngospasm is what it’s called. Your body seals your trachea to protect your lungs, to pull back the force that is trying to escape in between the gaps of your ribs so you can breathe right. But, the water just reroutes — flooding your stomach all the way to the top until your brain can't decide if you want to vomit or if you want to inhale.

You end up doing neither and the pain in your lower abdomen and chest begins dull when the bright spots around the corners of your shut eyelids spread and burn the brightest.

They got one thing right in that training, though.

Your captors will always pull you back up before you take your last breath.

They were also right about the part about how that first breath, when you choke out crimson water and vomit all over yourself, is only the beginning.

 

*

 

Iruka’s back hits the table, just as his shoulders curl inwards and he tries to roll over the side, retching water on the floor and whatever else he had in his stomach. His coughs are deafening, loud, and rough, acid and bile burning upwards, and gods, it hurts. It hurts so much.

But just when he thinks it's over, when his heaving lungs manage to calm down, when he tastes the musty air of the room — almost as sweet as a summer morning at dawn — there are hands in his hair yanking his head back all the way, slamming him back down on the table. He hears the clack of restraints, leather straps digging into his bare chest and arms, strapping over the shattered bones in his legs.

And when the light above him dims, when they slap a wet cloth over his face, nothing prepares Iruka for the dread that follows. Nothing prepares him for the feeling of water being poured over his covered face. There is no manual, no training session, no pep talk that would have prepared him for the feeling of his lungs seizing when he is on dry land, or how his screams are drowned out by the sound of water, or how loud the rattle of the restraints are when his entire body tightens, _convulses_ when he tries to fight it, tries to break free from the large hands holding his face prisoner, forcing him to look up.

Cowards make the best torturers, Iruka realizes, as the water stops pouring and the cloth is lifted from his face, just long enough for his mind to be tricked that it's over, that he had survived the worst of it, that's it done — he'll live. His brain, lungs, and stomach tell him he's not really drowning in an empty room full of vengeful hate.

Cowards understand fear — they use it.

The cloth comes back, again, and again, and again. Each time it does, it chips a little of his resolve away.

It takes hours before Iruka confesses that he and Kakashi are separating, beyond delirious and far too afraid of feeling water on his face again. It takes another few after he feels fist after fist rain down on his face, his sides, cracking bone after bone, before he chokes out that Kakashi doesn't really love him.

You’re wasting your time, Iruka says, sobbing, broken, barely coherent, tears streaming down his face. I am not his husband. He doesn’t love me. _I’m nothing to him._

 

*

 

They don’t believe him.

They don’t listen to him.

If I survive this, Iruka thinks, I am going to make sure that I get more training on how to handle torture and interrogation better.

If I survive this, I’ll tell Kakashi it was never a lie.

 

*

 

Somewhere in between the thirtieth and fourtieth drowning on land, Iruka’s memories sweep in to pull him off the terrible shores he’d found himself shipwrecked on.

He had always been captivated by Kakashi, had admired him for his strength, his dedication and his willingness to protect those close to him. Iruka had known that Kakashi had managed to worm his way into his heart when he found himself enraptured by the smallest things he did, hanging onto all the little things that came out of his mouth. It had been like watching the universe unfold, if Iruka had to pick a line out of _Icha Icha._

Nothing else seemed to matter in those moments — when Kakashi would tap against the doorframe of his study, hair tousled from sleep during the rare moments he had been home on the weekends, asking if he wanted coffee or a cup of tea. Or when Kakashi stepped into the living room to join Iruka on the couch, wordlessly handing him a bag of Iruka's favorite potato chips, settling on his end of the couch and turning up the volume on the television. And though their bodies didn’t quite touch, Iruka could feel just how _warm_ Kakashi was, the heat of him radiating through the small space between them. Or that time when they happened to just bump into each other on the street, Iruka coming out of the administration building and Kakashi just leaving the Hokage tower. Kakashi had raised his hand up then, asked if he was heading home, if he didn't mind the company on the way back.

Or the way he looked at dawn on the first morning of the New Year, when the air felt somehow rarefied and as sacred as the moment that they shared, one Iruka had wished he could have every morning for the rest of his life.

The rest of the world would always hush and fade for a few seconds during those moments.

After that, as Iruka would go about his day, it didn't take much to send him into a whirlwind of thoughts that always seemed to center on Kakashi. Sometimes, for no apparent reason. A scent in the air. The taste of a fresh orange that reminded him of the incredibly ripe mikans from River Country Kakashi had brought home one day. The sound of a dog's bark in the distance. The feeling of paper underneath his fingers as he turned a page in a book. The warmth of a cup of afternoon tea held between his hands.

Sometimes, all it took was a glimpse of him — walking down the hallway, standing outside in the garden in the morning as he let the pack out when they happened to be at home, or even just seeing Kakashi from a distance, milling about his business, conversing with his team or former teammates.  

Sometimes, it was the sound of his name rolling past Kakashi's lips that made the pounding of Iruka’s heart quicken, and later on, as they continued to share a house that had started to feel so much like a home, the smile and the achingly tender expression in his eyes that came with his name had been Iruka's undoing.

It's somehow wonderful and breathtaking — inspiring, even — how this whirlwind of emotions that Kakashi still seems to ignite in him, even when he's so far away, even when cruel fists rain down, when water fills Iruka’s lungs and stomach, or when a whip cracks against his back — gives Iruka a little more determination to hold on just a little longer.

Just one more time, Iruka thinks, if I can just see him one more time, I'll be okay.

 

*

 

There was one afternoon when Iruka came home to the sound of running water and simultaneous barks.

His feet carried around the side of the house, and came to a shocked halt at the sight before him.

There was a large basin of water, brimming with thick suds. On the ground, the garden hose laid discarded in a very mild dribble, dissolving soap suds that had managed to spill out of the basin and across the ground and grass. Kakashi stood amidst the chaos of water and fur, visibly having a conversation with Pakkun. The conversation stopped when Kakashi turned when he sensed Iruka’s presence. Kakashi was barefoot and shirtless, his pants rolled up to his knees, hands deep into scrubbing out Shiba’s fur, who refused to sit still in the basin, pitiful whines escaping his throat. He must have not expected Iruka to return so soon, to catch him in such a state.

It was the opening Shiba must have been waiting for because he jumped right out of basin, sopping wet and dripping soap and water all over the ground. Shiba shook the water out of his fur, droplets spraying everywhere and glinting under the bright sun, clear jewels catching the light, as Kakashi held his hand up to block the unwelcomed onslaught.

Iruka couldn't help himself. He laughed at the sight of Kakashi, laughed as Shiba tried to avoid the basin. Iruka set his things down, taking pity on Kakashi who just looked a little defeated, standing there dripping wet, rubbing the back of his head.

“You guys…”

“Can I help?” Iruka offered, stripping down to just his shirt and pants. “You look like you’re having a hard time, Kakashi-san.”

“Sure, if you’d like.” Kakashi gestured with his hand, bending over to pick up the fallen bar of soap and pointing at the basin. “Shiba, get back in here.”

Shiba protested for a moment, but conceded at the look Kakashi gave him, stepping back into the basin, tail between his legs.

“If there’s two of us scrubbing you down, it’ll be over faster, ne?” Iruka said as a way of placating the ninken, crouching down on the other side of the basin, helping Kakashi work up a generous lather. He received a wet, sloppy doggy kiss for his words of encouragement.

Iruka should have known better than to expect things to go smoothly.

He should have known better than to think it would be so easy.

One moment, he was smoothing out suds from fur, rubbing Shiba’s neck as Kakashi held the hose. The next thing he knew, Shiba was jumping out of the basin, paws pushing the edge down, the entire contents of water and suds sloshing out like a small wave all over Iruka, soaking him from head to toe. Iruka stood there, frozen, jaw wide open, as he stared at the mess all around him. Iruka got up onto his feet and tugged his shirt off, hands on his hips, as he pointed at the upturned basin on the ground.

“Shiba! This is very inappropriate behavior! I will have you know that I will not tolerate dirty paws in the house! Get back here at once! All of you! Stand in line! I am going to scrub you all down if I have to stand here all day! Get in the tub!”

But the summons didn’t listen and Iruka gave chase. They ran around in circles around the yard, making a bigger mess, getting grass and soil all over their wet fur. Iruka managed to catch Bisuke, howled in triumph, and that was when he saw it.

Kakashi was doubled over with laughter, a hand on his knee, unable to catch his breath. Iruka couldn't stop the flush from crawling up his chest, all the way to his face. He couldn’t seem to look away from the sight Kakashi made, how wonderfully unguarded and handsome he was, breathless in his laughter, moisture glinting at the corners of his eyes at the embarrassing sight Iruka must have made chasing the dogs.

(Iruka would run around in circles again, if it meant making Kakashi laugh.)

“It’s not that funny!” Iruka griped, and that only seemed to fuel the laughter more, as he huffed and corrected the basin, filling it with water once more, setting Bisuke down.

“It’s a little funny, Iruka-sensei,” Bisuke said, ears pressing backwards and flat on his head as Iruka worked up a lather in his fur.

“When you’re quite finished, Kakashi-san,” Iruka groused.

Kakashi lowered himself back down to a crouch, taking the soap from Iruka’s hand, working up a lather on Bisuke’s opposite side, chuckling all the while. “Ah, Iruka-sensei, you should have seen yourself.”

Iruka flushed, muttering about misbehaving summons the entire time. It was right before they rinsed the large cloud of suds off Bisuke’s flank that Iruka decided to scoop a handful of bubbles and unceremoniously smeared it all over the side of Kakashi’s face. Kakashi’s eyes had widened, a colorful kaleidoscope glinting over the surface of the bubbles dripping down the side of his face. It was hard to believe that the man kneeling on the ground would be the next Hokage. Not with the comically wide, surprised expression that had been painted on his face.

“Ah, Kakashi-san, you should see yourself~” Iruka said as he brought his soapy hand up, the back of his wrist trying to cover up the grin splitting his face.

Iruka didn’t expect Kakashi to step around the basin, wasn’t prepared when Bisuke suddenly began to shake his fur out. The swipe of two warm, sudsy fingers over the scar on his nose made Iruka’s eyes widen, as he watched the lopsided smirk form on Kakashi's face as the scar on his upper lip twitched upwards. The sight of it was enough to rob Iruka of breath, and he suddenly didn't care that he had suds on his face and most likely looked incredibly silly.

“There. Now we’re even,” Kakashi declared.

Bisuke took the opportunity to jump out of the basin, brushing past Iruka’s knee. In an attempt to avoid having the basin tip over in his direction again, Iruka leaned a little too far on his side, right into Kakashi’s chest and warmth with a loud, unguarded squawk.

And for the longest moment, there was only him, side pressed on Kakashi’s front, a hand on the grass, and the other on Kakashi’s shoulder, the contents of the basin tipped and flowing over the stone path like small rivers. In that moment, however brief, Iruka looked up to find Kakashi’s eyebrows going up to his hairline, the smirk broadening, and the most beautiful, playful twinkle in his eyes. Eyes, Iruka realized, that had a bit of a blue in their stormy grey depths.

(Iruka remembers drowning, remembers not being able to breathe.)

“My, Iruka-sensei, how very forward~”

Iruka pulled himself away, grabbed the hose and purposely pointed the spray right at Kakashi’s face. The surprise lasted for barely a millisecond, as Kakashi's eyes widened, and ducked just before the water could smack him in the face. It ended up sailing over his head in a glorious arc, instead, and Iruka lowered the spray, and tried to get Kakashi in his chest and stomach, unable to stop the laugh from bubbling out from his throat. But instead of the water finding its mark, it hit the side of a log instead.

“Using kawarimi to get away from a water hose — that’s unfair, Kakashi-san! Come out and face me!” Iruka called out, breathless with laughter. He glanced around the yard for any sign of where Kakashi might have gone. He looked up into the sycamore tree, only to find the branches empty, and then at a bush nearby. But before he could even take one step towards the bush, the ground behind him suddenly broke open and Iruka gasped in shock, as he suddenly found his back pressed alongside Kakashi's wet front and the hose was yanked out of his hand, freezing cold water smacking him in the face a second later.

Iruka gurgled, sputtered, turning his face away from the sudden spray, shouting and squawking all kinds of protests. Iruka ended up turning, pressing into Kakashi’s chest, hands on his shoulders, dripping a wet mess. “Okay, okay!” Iruka conceded, laughing as he blinks water out of his eyes, a hand coming up push his wet hair back. “You win, this time.”

Kakashi lowered the hose, a slow grin spreading out over his face. “Are you saying I don't win every time?”

Iruka’s gaze fell over that grin, at the teeth peeking out between lips. In an unguarded, breathless moment, Iruka opened his mouth to answer, but instead, found himself looking up into Kakashi’s eyes. Something caught in his throat, words failing him for several heartbeats. He thought of something witty to respond with, even considered lecturing Kakashi for using ninjutsu at a time like this, which was a little overkill. He had considered telling him that maybe, he didn’t have to try so hard. That he didn’t have to do much in order to win Iruka over. That all he had to do was smile, stand this close, say his name, and Iruka would surrender every inch of himself. That all he had to do was ask.

“You always do, Kakashi-san,” Iruka had murmured, suddenly too aware of how close they were, of the heat of Kakashi’s skin against his, of the way he looked so unguarded, relaxed, willingly standing this close to Iruka without the walls he was always pulling up around him. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m powerless against you.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of water and early autumn birdsong in the air, and happy barks fading into the distance as Iruka’s eyes widened slightly as he stares up at Kakashi — at how intensely he was looking at him. At the way his eyes darkened slightly.

Iruka could feel the strong, heavy weight of Kakashi’s hand where it was braced along his hip, and his breath caught in his throat as Kakashi seemed to lean in towards him, his warm breath fanning over his face. Iruka's lashes had dropped instinctively to half-mast as his chin tilted up, lips parting as the thunder of his heart slammed up against his ribs — but Kakashi didn't close the infinitesimal space between them. He took a breath instead, and pulled back slightly, hand dropping from Iruka’s hip.

“Really, Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi said with a faint smile and Iruka lost the warmth of Kakashi in his space and ached for the loss in a way he hadn’t expected. “You need to give yourself more credit. You’re more powerful than you know.”

Iruka falls to the ground, breathless, strength dripping out of the perforated wounds on his back and chest, hands trembling as he is yanked back up and dragged across the floor.

Kakashi’s words ring false in his ears, the shape of that soft smile fading as Iruka tries to cling to the image, tries to hold onto something good, something better than what he knows is coming.

In the end, Kakashi slips away, like he always does, it seems.

“No,” Iruka mutters, under his breath in response to Kakashi fading before his eyes, his words lost in the dark. “I’m not…”

 

*

 

Sometimes, Iruka wishes he hadn't fallen in love with Hatake Kakashi.

Sometimes he wishes that he had been able to be more careful with his choice.

But it was never really a choice.

So he doesn't get the option at limiting his possibility of getting hurt. Not even after the barren cold that Kakashi had left in his wake with his silence and blatant dismissal, or when Iruka had put so much space between them after that — most people would have fallen into a deep, hopeless despair. But loving Kakashi, Iruka realizes, is an emotion so genuine that it is unlike anything he's ever felt. Loving Kakashi had given him the strength to remain quieter still, to face the weight of seeing and being with someone he may never truly have, because it's enough to see Kakashi’s relaxed silhouette, to know that he is comfortable enough to shed his armor and mask when he’s in Iruka’s presence. Loving Kakashi is a secret that Iruka is willing to take with him to the grave. It is that love that had given him the courage to spit in Yaite's face when he had said the cruelest of things about him, a useless show of bravado, the satisfaction of it only lasting pitiful seconds.

Loving Kakashi had also been his greatest weakness because it is also that love that had crushed Iruka, too.

It's difficult to make someone your entire world, Iruka realizes, in the space between being conscious and unconscious, when they drag him across the floor and strap him back to the chair.

Not when they don't really feel the same.

 

*

 

There are small moments in between the pain when Iruka thinks he's not in a crumbling, airless room but sitting instead in a garden that stretches out before him like a painting. Here, he feels the gentle autumn breeze against his cheeks, the sweet smell of fallen red and gold leaves tickling his nostrils as the sounds of several paws thump against the grass, crunching leaves under foot. Here, in this quiet, peaceful afternoon, when the sun paints the skies in liquid gold, Iruka watches Kakashi stand with his bare feet on the grass, arms crossed, and to anyone who doesnt know him, he looks guarded, distant, closed off.

But his arms uncross as the youngest of the pack bounds up beside his feet, Bisuke wagging his tail, a stick between his teeth. Kakashi bends over then, taking the stick and throwing it to the far end of the garden, just as Bisuke and two others takes off after it. He does this over and over again, until the sky turns purple and the stars begin to dot the heavens.

Iruka sees past the arm crossing, past the mask and seemingly thick silence. Because what he sees is Kakashi's lips pressed into a relaxed line, easy and unguarded. What he sees is the twinkle in his gaze, a softness that he reserves only for those within the gates of his home. What he sees is the light in Kakashi's eyes when he turns to look at him, and that relaxed line of his mouth twitches just a little higher, to an almost smile.

Iruka thinks he's never seen anyone more beautiful.

But the sun always disappears in the end, and with it Kakashi's smile, the edges of that memory seared away by the feeling of invisible lightning coursing through his veins and making his fist tighten so much, it feels like his knuckles will rip through his skin.

“That's their objective,” Iruka remembers Ibiki saying, “to strip you down until you're so exposed and there's nothing safeguarding Konoha's secrets. They'll tear you down until they know you better than you know yourself. If you reach this point, you should consider yourself dead. Honor, shame, loyalty —  even the will to live — will fade if you make it this far. And assuming you survive this, you’ll never be the same. No one ever is.”

Iruka screams until his throat feels torn, as he feels like skin is about to burn, flesh roasting underneath the dampness of his skin. He screams because he can do nothing else.

Hours later, when they pick him up from the floor and he feels Yaite's hands cast a healing jutsu over his wounds, he is reduced to begging for it all to stop.

“You don’t understand. He doesn’t love me. What part of that do you not understand? Please stop, please, please—“

"Shhhh," Yaite says, brushing a steady hand against his forehead, petting him like one would to comfort a child as he mends broken bones and perforated wounds. "Don't be afraid. I told you I won't let you die."

“Burn me. Just burn me! Please! _Please!”_ Iruka can't help it when he begs Yaite for death. He can’t help it when he keeps screaming for it even as they strap him down to the chair.

His words, like his screams, continue to fall on deaf ears.

 

*

 

They do it all over again.

And when Iruka comes back to himself this time, he is suspended in the air by chains around his wrists, and sopping wet. Blood slowly drips down to the floor, traces of vomit smearing down the gaping, open wounds on his chest. He opens his eyes to the sight of skin and flesh hanging off him, folds of human meat exposed to the musty air and two of his ribs sticking out of his sides.

Iruka _screams_ and _cries_ at the sight of the carnage — loud, curdling, and filled with horror that he will never truly forget. This memory will remain with him forever, seeing parts of him open and exposed forever searing into his mind. He doesn’t know how long he’s been a prisoner, or how long this has been going on.

He only knows that it feels like forever.

Trying to escape doesn’t even matter anymore. Nor does it matter that there are only four of them watching over him, two others swapping with his kidnapper and Bear, both equally big. It doesn’t matter that Iruka knows they only take fifteen minute breaks in between _hours_ of torture, how they switch between pouring water over his head, managing the current on the power box, whipping him, or taking turns in raining fists and boots or carving off pieces of his flesh out with a blunt blade. Yaite likes that last bit the most — knows where to stick his blades in enough to make Iruka scream so loud, just when he thinks he is about to pass out.

What fucking good is any of this information when he can’t even run, even if he tried?

When Iruka doesn't have any tears left to shed, when he loses all sense of his comprehension and shock begins to take over, when his vision begins to dim, he feels the prick of a needle in his arm, feels the sudden surge of adrenaline, his body kickstarting and waking up, forcing him to feel every gash, every burn, every nick and cut they forced upon his skin just as the first crack of the whip slices through the flesh of his back.

Yaite _never_ lets him lose consciousness.

Iruka thinks of home and his classroom, thinks of his children's faces, all the unruly and wide grins, he thinks of a warm bowl of ramen, of old man Teuchi and the ever friendly Ayame. He thinks of Naruto and how he's grown up to be a fine young man, how he'd changed and come a long way from the kid who had sat alone in the Academy swings watching the other children go home to the hero that everyone looks up to. He thinks of his parents, tells them how sorry he is that he isn't brave enough to withstand this.

And just before his eyes close once more, he thinks of Kakashi and the small quiet moments they had shared, the weekends they had spent together watching movies or the warm meals they had enjoyed together. He thinks of Kakashi handing him a cup of coffee, how his lips curved over the rim of his cup, how soft his gaze had been then.

He hears Kakashi's voice in his ear. _Iruka-sensei,_ he says, distant and far.

Iruka tries to open his eyes, just to see if he’s really there when deep down, every part of him is telling him that it’s a dream, it’s not real.

Opening his eyes, he finds, doesn’t really work.

He doesn’t have the strength.

Until he somehow does and comes face to face with a wide and crooked grin and Yaite brushing a chakra laced thumb over his forehead.

 

*

 

I'm not going to survive this, Iruka thinks, feeling tired. So, _so_ tired.

Surprisingly, he finds that he's okay with that, if it means making the pain stop. He supposes that's the good part about dying — when you've got nothing to lose, you run any risk you want.

Iruka doesn't really think he's risking anything anymore. It's not like he had much to lose to begin with.

 

*

 

Ibiki had concluded his lecture by saying, “Killing yourself to safeguard Konoha is the last resort. It should never be your first choice. There is no loss of honor for choosing to take secrets with you to the grave. After all, that’s one of the terms and conditions when you choose to be a shinobi, right?”

Iruka remembers the huff of chuckles around the room, how he, too, had smiled a little at the light delivery of words that weighed more than just a somber joke.

But Ibiki had also said, “You’re a soldier. Konoha will always want you back alive. You should, to the utmost of your ability, resist. Resistance is key. Always do your best to resist and come home. Konoha will always try to find you.”

Iruka isn’t sure anymore how much of this he can resist; his only training in torture had been purely academic.

He wasn’t prepared for the interminable, relentless rounds of torture. No one takes teachers, no one really targets his kind unless they are at war. But they aren't anymore. The peace between the five countries had been made possible with the end of the Fourth Great Shinobi War.

So when Iruka finds strength to end it all, when he is dropped to the ground and somehow manages to find the energy to pull one of the kunais embedded into his shoulder to slice open the jugular on his neck wide open, when blood _pours_ out of him in a way that _scares_ him, Iruka thinks it’s done, and finally closes his eyes, as the room around him goes into panic and Yaite’s voice rings the loudest when he shouts at Bear and the others — _how could you be so reckless? He is Hatake Kakashi’s husband!  
_

Iruka tastes victory for what feels like seconds.

He thinks he’ll get to see his parents soon, maybe even the Sandaime.

But when he opens his eyes again, it is still dark.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Yaite’s face, hears him click his tongue as he grabs him by the chin and smirks, “Nice try, Iruka. But you don’t get to go just yet.”

To be denied even the choice of death is the worst thing a man can feel.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's take a moment to light a candle for Iruka and form a prayer circle.
> 
> For those of you who couldn't handle reading through the torture scenes -- Iruka is tortured pretty heavily, waterboarded, and half-drowned. His captors whip him, use electro torture on him, and at one point, when he attempts to escape, they break his legs. (Tibia fractures.) They also use genjutsu on him, and repeatedly heal his wounds just to redo the torture all over again. (They also use adrenaline so that he can't ever really pass out.) He ends up being worn down and is broken into such a state, that he attempts to kill himself as a way to get out of the torture. 
> 
> Throughout this chapter, Iruka thinks of Kakashi and how much he loves him, and also thinks back on happier times. We recommend scrolling up to find the flashback where they are together if you could not read the rest of the chapter. 
> 
> \---
> 
> Thanks for reading! We hope you enjoyed this chapter! We will be updating at least once a week, so be sure to **subscribe** if you'd like to keep up with our new chapter releases. 
> 
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	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** More graphic descriptions of violence and torture are in this chapter.
> 
>  **Soundtrack:** [Tommee Profitt feat. Sam Tinnesz - Hold On For Your Life](https://youtu.be/x4nD8RucDU8)

The summon arrives as the sun disappears behind the peaks of the Hokage Mountain.

Kakashi had been standing in front of the memorial, losing time.

Spending more time with the dead meant spending less with the living; meant not having to answer questions about Iruka, or even have to think of him.

“He’s not really in love with me,” he told Obito the day he threw Iruka out.

Obito didn't answer that day — but then, he never does.

The Hokage Tower at night is a quiet beacon of light in the dark. With each step towards the tower, Kakashi feels a little more relief, armed with the knowledge that he’ll be sent somewhere that isn’t Konoha. Somewhere far from the house he hasn’t been able to return to since the night he told Iruka to leave. Far from the streets where he had once walked, side-by-side with Iruka, on his way home from the Academy. Far from the sound of children’s laughter as they go running by without a thought or care in the world, which always reminds him of Iruka, and the way his eyes look when he watches children pass him by in the street. Far from the way Iruka’s smile looked at dawn, and the taste of his cooking, and his scent in the air, and the way Kakashi felt whenever Iruka looked at him.

He’ll be able to keep himself busy and pass the final week before the divorce papers can finally be processed, without thinking much about Iruka at all. He won’t have to think about the space in his life Iruka once filled, or the shape his loss will take when he was never Kakashi’s to lose.

And by the time Kakashi returns to the village, he’ll be a bachelor once more. He’ll have to return back to the life he once had, to a one bedroom apartment that was never filled with laughter or warmth.

A one bedroom apartment, where he will eat alone.

He nods to the guards standing outside Tsunade’s office, before entering, bowing his head in greeting to Tsunade.

“Kakashi.” There's something about the frown of her face and the glint of her eyes that feels unsettling. This isn't the face of a Hokage simply sending him on an average mission. This is something else.

“Tsunade-sama.”

“Have you seen Iruka today?”

Kakashi frowns. It isn't normal for the Hokage to get herself involved in the private affairs of a legally married couple. “No,” he admits. “Why?”

“It seems that Iruka didn't make it into work today,” Tsunade explains. “The Academy tried to reach him at home, but it seems neither of you were there. Do you know where he is?”

It's not like Iruka to skip work, and certainly not without calling in.

Kakashi knows how important his job is to him; knows that Iruka considers it his duty to train the next generation of shinobi. Skipping work without a good reason would be like abandoning his students — something Iruka would never do.

“I haven't been home in a few days,” Kakashi says after a moment, and Tsunade’s frown deepens. “We haven't exactly been on the best terms lately.”

“Well, it isn't my business to pry about a married couple’s affairs. But when was the last time you saw Iruka?”

“About five days ago.”

“And you haven't been home since?”

“No.”

“Did he give any indication that he was thinking of leaving the village?”

“Iruka would never abandon the village, if that's what you're asking.”

Tsunade looks Kakashi straight in the eye and asks, “Are you sure you're the best judge of character for that?”

The barb lands swiftly, cuts him fast.

Kakashi knows Tsunade is referring to when Sasuke had first left, and he had assured her then that Sasuke would never turn on Konoha. That if he left the village, it was only because he wanted to avenge his family, because he needed power he felt Konoha — and Kakashi — couldn’t provide. But the bonds Sasuke had with Team 7 were real — he would never truly abandon them, Kakashi said, as he stood in the same spot, years ago, even while Naruto laid in the hospital, recovering from a hole Sasuke had put in his chest.

But how very wrong he had been, then.

Too blinded by love to see the truth.

They stare at each other for a moment, Tsunade’s eyes quiet and assessing, pools of hardened honey in the evening light.

“Iruka is not Sasuke,” Kakashi says after a halting moment.

“I didn't say he was. I asked you if you’re the best judge of his character.”

The truth is, Kakashi doesn’t know if he is.

Before the moment Iruka stood before him and delivered the cruelest of lies, Kakashi had never thought he was even capable of it — didn’t think he would ever lie to him. Not like that, anyway. He had thought Iruka was honest to a fault — his heart was too soft, and he was too gentle. It hurt him to lie to the people in his life that he loved, or so Kakashi had thought. Even white lies didn’t seem to come easily to Iruka, so the one that did, delivered as justification for the ultimate betrayal, came as a shock.

And if Iruka could lie to him like that, what did Kakashi really know?

Kakashi thinks about nights Iruka would be up so late grading papers that he’d fall asleep at the kitchen table, face pressed against the wood of the grain, hand still clutching a red pen; how he’d wake up, frantic at dawn, and rush through his grading and lesson planning without any consideration for himself, running out the door without even eating or taking a proper shower.

How he begged and nagged at Kakashi for weeks, bribing him with everything imaginable under the sun — offering to even do his laundry and clean his bathroom for a month, if Kakashi would come in and show his students some of his more advanced jutsus. How grateful he was, when Kakashi did stop by and spent an afternoon mesmerizing an Academy full of small children with his powerful elemental jutsus.

There had been a night, when a storm blew outside, rain playing a staccato on the window panes. In the middle of a game of shogi, with a terrible start, Iruka realized that he’d left some papers behind that he needed to finish grading.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said. “Do you mind if we postpone our game until tomorrow? I need to go back to the Academy now — those papers are supposed to be returned to the kids tomorrow…”

“In this rain?  It’s the middle of a night, Iruka-sensei. Why don’t you just return their papers a day later?” Kakashi had asked. “It won’t kill them to wait a little longer.”

“I don’t want those kids to face disappointment when the years ahead of them will have plenty of that,” Iruka explained, as he started to get up from the table. “Not when they're this young. If I can prevent these kids from being disappointed by their instructors, I will try my best. I only want their well being in mind.”

And Kakashi had looked at him then, and thought that Iruka was too soft for a world as harsh and as cruel as the one they lived in. And he said, “The problem with you is that you can only see them as children, and not as the shinobi they might one day become. They aren’t just kids. They’re shinobi in training. And as shinobi, they must be prepared to face whatever challenges are required of them. If that means they will experience disappointment, they’ll learn how to overcome it. Being a shinobi means knowing how to endure.”

Iruka paused then and looked at Kakashi carefully, his eyes quiet and soft. “They _are_ shinobi in training. They _will_ learn those lessons, eventually. But make no mistake, my faith in those kids isn't so low that I do not think they cannot overcome whatever comes their way. Naruto's existence is testament to that. And so is Sasuke's… That's not all they are, though. They're little boys and girls, too. They're human. That shouldn't be taken away from them so quickly… They should still be able to enjoy their childhoods.”

“Iruka,” Kakashi responded with a sigh, “I was six years old when I became a chuunin. I didn’t exactly have what you’d call a normal childhood. A shinobi’s age has nothing to do with their ability. You know that well.”

“But we aren’t at war anymore, Kakashi-san,” Iruka insisted, and there was something fierce blazing in his dark eyes. Something that was as much conviction as it was a quiet sadness, mourning for the lost childhoods of soldiers who were far too young. And as he looked at Kakashi, his expression slowly softened, and he whispered so quietly it could have just been a trick of Kakashi’s imagination, had he not seen Iruka’s mouth form the words, _I wish you could have had a normal childhood, too._

“I don’t know if I am the best judge of Iruka’s character,” Kakashi admits to Tsunade, and he knows it’s the wrong answer, because her lips tighten into a line, before he continues. “Maybe Naruto might be be better. But what I can tell you is that Iruka would never abandon his students. He would do anything for them.”

“So what you’re saying, Kakashi,” Tsunade says, steepling her fingers under his chin as she looks at him thoughtfully, “is that Iruka absolutely could not have abandoned the village?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then, do you have any idea where he might be, or why he didn’t report in for duty?” Tsunade asks, but Kakashi really doesn’t have a good answer for that.

 

 

*

 

He discovers, shortly after, that Iruka had moved out as Kakashi had demanded.

His belongings had been packed up, sheets stripped from the bed.

Iruka had even taken it upon himself to empty the refrigerator of all the groceries he’d purchased, and cleaned out all the cabinets. There was nothing of him left behind in the house, except for the box of dates sitting in the refrigerator, and the quiet echoes of his laughter from a time when they still smiled at each other across the kitchen table, pressed into the seams of the floorboards of this place they once called home.

 

*

 

They find Iruka’s bag in the bushes some hours later.

The newly reinstated Konoha Police Force bring it into the Hokage Tower, and Kakashi is called back in for another briefing. Tsunade tells him where they’d found the bag — in the bushes on a road leading to an inn where Iruka had apparently been renting a room in.

There were signs of a struggle, she said, and everything in Kakashi spins to a stop as he begins to understand the gravity of the statement.

Iruka hadn’t left the village.

 _Iruka had been taken_.

There are words coming out of Tsunade’s mouth, but Kakashi isn’t hearing them at all, when all he can think is that Iruka is gone. Someone has him, and Kakashi wasn’t there, and didn’t know, and it could have been a few hours, or it could have been much longer. And every hour that they aren’t out there, looking, is an hour closer to Iruka never coming home.

(And all he can see is the eventuality of a final goodbye he isn’t ready for.)

“Kakashi?” Tsunade asks archly, and Kakashi’s eyes snap back to attention on her. “Did you just hear a word that I said?”

“Ah, no — sorry, can you please repeat that?”

“I said, can you think of a reason why anyone would want to kidnap Iruka?”

Kakashi can think of far too many.

“You’re looking at it,” he says, voice strained.

He doesn’t know how many lives he’s put out in a lifetime of war; how many families he’s broken, how much loss he’s responsible for. He never did try to count it all, and even if he did, he doesn’t know if it would even be possible when too many battlefields of broken bodies lie in the wake of his steps.

Tsunade’s eyes widen for a moment, before darkening in quiet understanding.

To the rest of the world, Hatake Kakashi is an unstoppable weapon wrapped in human skin — a weapon with over a thousand jutsu, who could end an entire bloodline or destroy an entire village in a night. A weapon who is really more of a monster that left behind gaping holes and missing hearts in the bodies of everyone who made the mistake of crossing his path. But even monsters have weaknesses when they fall in love, and for someone like Kakashi, his husband would be the greatest weakness of all.

And Kakashi knows this cruel line of reasoning far too well, because it’s just the sort of brutal strategy that he himself used for years, when all that was left of him was a red and white mask and hands that could kill. And all that mattered was the kill at the end, and not the heartbeat or the life that came with it. What mattered was that it had to happen, and not the reason behind it. He never stopped to think about how maybe one day this would come back to haunt him, because he never thought he would wake up and discover that he had a weakness that wasn’t something he couldn’t train away.

It's with a slow, sinking horror that Kakashi realizes he is responsible for whatever Iruka is going through right now.

No matter how angry he was, how disappointed or hurt, no matter what Iruka had done or how raw Kakashi had felt, he never should have thrown him out, when a part of Kakashi always knew that for as long as Iruka was married to him, he would never be truly safe. There would always be someone, somewhere, who wanted Kakashi dead, and everyone he loves, too.

Iruka would have been the weakest link, the easiest target to capture or kill.  

Kakashi should have known, should have expected.

But instead, he told Iruka that he didn’t want his love, told him to get out, and then left him.

Had he let Iruka stay, he would have known if Iruka didn’t come home on time. Had he been there, he would have been able to act faster, would have maybe even been able to get him back by now.

But Kakashi wasn’t anywhere close; he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to think about anything else. And though he knows that he couldn’t have always been there, that missions often take him far away from the village for days, the fact doesn’t change that when Iruka disappeared, Kakashi could have been there, but he wasn’t.

“I’m going to go after him,” he tells Tsunade.

“Now wait a minute, Kakashi,” Tsunade tries to caution. “I know that you want to rescue Iruka, but we need to talk about this. You can’t just go out there alone. That is precisely what his captors are expecting you will do. I won’t allow it.”

“Tsunade-sama, with all due respect, Iruka is my husband,” Kakashi says, and the grit of his resolve is unmistakable in his voice and in the set of his jaw, in the way his shoulders square as he straightens up. “I might not remember it, but I must have made a promise to him when I married him, to always cherish and protect him, till death do us part. So, for as long as he remains my husband, it is my duty to keep him safe.”

Tsunade’s expression softens considerably. “Kakashi, I understand how you feel, but I simply cannot permit you to—”

“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m going. Don’t try to stop me,” he says, as he turns on his heel and walks out, ignoring Tsunade as she calls after him to stop.

_(A ninja who breaks the rules of the ninja world is trash; but a ninja who abandons his precious companions is worse than trash.)_

 

*

 

"I don't know if I ever actually said it," Iruka says, his back to the table as he adjusts the sleeves of his red yukata and pours two cups of tea. "But I want to apologize anyway, for being the other half that got us into this arrangement." Iruka sets the pot down and carries both cups back to the table, setting one beside Kakashi before he takes his seat. "And how poorly I handled it. Sometimes I think about that morning and I just... well, regardless of circumstances, my poor behavior towards you was unacceptable." Iruka smiles, a little flushed around the cheeks. "I'll tell you one thing though. This is a really nice house~"

Iruka rubs the back of his head then, rumpling the loose knot of his ponytail at the nape of his neck. "Is it strange to say that I think I'll miss it? When, you know..."

Kakashi’s eyes meet Iruka’s as he takes a slow sip of his tea and swallows, humming contemplatively. Iruka watches as Kakashi’s mouth appears from behind the rim of the cup, a small smile tugging at the corners. “It’s the kitchen, isn’t it.”

"It's huge!" Iruka exclaims, his grin stretching over his face as he looks over his shoulder at the stretch of the kitchen, the gleam of the polished wood, the smooth finishing of the marble countertop and the multiple working areas that just makes moving around so easy. "It's one of the things, yes. I admit. It's so strange having so much space and being able to walk around without bumping into things." Iruka thinks of how, when his parents were still alive, he would drag a stool towards the counter just so that he could reach the sink and help wash the dishes after breakfast. The floor of his family home had looked similar to the floors here, too — smooth, polished wood. "I had forgotten how that felt like — the space. It's been so long." Iruka looks back to his cup.

"We used to have a window by the sink, just like the one here. I remember falling a few times into the sink everytime I tried to water the plants I took care of. I think this house is bigger though. Then again, when you're small, everything looks big." Iruka shakes his head, taking a sip of his tea. "I was a very clumsy child. Bony and tiny and just, weird looking; I fell into that sink several times. This house reminds me of… well.” He doesn’t finish that sentence, but shrugs and sheepish grin, instead. “Yes, I’ll miss this house.”

Kakashi’s expression softens considerably.  It’s a look Iruka thinks maybe Kakashi only ever reserves for moments like these, when they are alone.

(Sometimes he likes to pretend it’s just for him.)

“I’ll miss your cooking,” Kakashi admits after a moment, something wistful and quiet in the curve of his mouth. “The house isn’t half bad, either. The pack really likes all the extra space to run around.”

“Ah, the pack~” Iruka sing songs. “My goodness, don’t tell them, but I think I am in love with Bisuke. If I wanted someone to be by my side, I’d pick him.”

A silver eyebrow raises slightly in amusement, mirth dancing in Kakashi’s eyes. “You know, Iruka-sensei, you’re not supposed to have a favorite. You’re supposed to love them all equally. I’d be concerned if you ever have children one day. ”

Iruka’s nose and lips wrinkle, as he makes a face. “Then it’s a good thing that you’re so good at keeping secrets, right, Kakashi-san~?” Iruka props his chin on his palm, his fingers tapping over the rim of his cup as he watches Kakashi with fondness.

“I really should be compensated for this service,” Kakashi drawls with a grin. “A year’s worth of meal delivery service will suffice.”

Iruka visibly rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know, because you’re the only human being I’ve come across in this entire village who can stand those ration bars on a long-term basis. I offer an eighty percent bargain, should you expect compensation for keeping secrets from the pack. That is, you provide your own groceries, and I prepare. I’m a mere Academy teacher. Please be considerate. Labor counts, too!”

Kakashi laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his smile widens. It’s fleeting, and so rare, to see him look so relaxed and at ease. Usually, Kakashi always walks around with too much weight on his shoulders, and there’s always something distant and sad in his eyes. But in this moment, Iruka thinks Kakashi almost looks happy.

He’d like to believe that he is, anyway.

“Okay, okay,” Kakashi concedes. “I’ll provide my own groceries, but I expect five-star service.”

“The cooking is the service. I don’t do deliveries, if that is part of your five-star service dream. No, no. You can pick up your own bento yourself! Kakashi-san, please consider putting a halt to your laziness at once!” Iruka huffs.

Kakashi leans back in his seat, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Hmm, I don’t know, Sensei. If you expect my five-star secret keeping service, then you’re going to have to do better than that.” He leans forward then, elbows propped on the table and dips his head slightly, studying Iruka. Iruka thinks he’s never seen anyone more beautiful and handsome than Kakashi in that moment. It makes him ache with something he didn’t know he was capable of. “If you deliver, I’ll make that fish you like once a week, if I’m not on a mission. And maybe… we can have dinner together, once in a while.” He pauses. “If you have time.”

"A man after my own heart, aren't you, Kakashi-san?" Iruka says, looking away when he feels something so incredibly warm settle in the center of his chest. He doesn't look at Kakashi, doesn't dare because he is afraid Kakashi will see how much those words mean to him. "I would have brought it anyway, whether or not you asked. But I appreciate the invitation, nonetheless. Thank you, I would love to that." He pauses, and takes a sip of his tea, watching the leaves swirl. "If our schedules align."

When Iruka looks up, it’s with a cheeky grin that he hopes with everything that's in him would hide the swell of the sudden tender longing that he’s been trying to wrestle somewhere deep in his heart where no one can ever know, or see, or touch. “I do this for Bisuke, and only Bisuke. Before you get ideas! I am making my true motive known!”

“Ah, yes,” Kakashi says with a knowing smile. “I would never think anything otherwise.”

 

*

 

Iruka knows he’ll never forget the way Kakashi had looked at him that night — like he had known exactly how he had felt. Maybe he had seen it, the longing he had tried to hide. But Iruka knows that just because you want something doesn't mean you get to have it. He knows he'll never have Kakashi, knows that Kakashi will never understand how he had set the bar so incredibly high, how he's become the ideal husband for Iruka.

And he'll probably never know.

Iruka isn't going to survive this.

His head whips to the side when he the sharp lingering sting of a backhand slaps across his face, forcing the memory to recede to the back of his mind. He doesn't bother lifting his chin back up, too tired to even try. Bear does it for him, grabbing him by the chin and tilting his face up and studying his glazed over expression. Bear pushes his face away, huffing under his breath before he picks him up and drags him to another room, forcing pained whimpers right out of Iruka's throat when his broken legs are dragged along the floor, and his body jolts when he is forced into a chair. Some part of Iruka wonders if it's going to be another round of beating, or if it'll be another round of waterboarding.

It's a different room. One he doesn't remember being in before.

There is also an empty chair across him.

Ah, Iruka thinks as he closes his eyes, as Bear places large burly hands on his shoulders to keep him in place. It must be something new. Somewhere in the room, Iruka hears a door open and the sound of footsteps and something large being dragged. It doesn't matter what it is, or how there is a clamoring noise and a bit of a scuffle. Iruka can barely stay awake with the constant pounding pain coursing through his veins and flaring continuously at the back of his head.

Bear's hands yank his head up with a fist curled in his hair and forces him to look at the thing — no, a person sitting on chair across from him, dressed in Konoha's uniform, a sack hanging over his head. The sight of the uniform is enough to cut through the thick haze in Iruka's mind, enough to make his eyes widen. There is something about the figure that seems almost too familiar, that makes Iruka's heart start racing, adrenaline pumping through his body as clarity slowly starts to return.

Yaite hums, far too pleased with himself, when he reaches up and pulls the sack off.

The world around Iruka fades to black.

Kakashi’s hitai-ate is gone, hair drooping over his face, cutting across his left eye. His right — the one Iruka can see — is almost swollen shut, blood running down the side of his face, soaking through his mask. Iruka can hear a terrible wheeze of each breath that can only mean Kakashi’s ribs are broken. And the blood — there’s so much of it that Iruka doesn’t even know how Kakashi’s _alive_ , unless most of it isn’t his.

Kakashi coughs wetly as Yaite forces him back against the seat, hissing between his teeth in pain when his arms are yanked behind him and he’s tied down.

The sound of rope tightening around flesh is loud in Iruka's ears and he finds himself staring at Kakashi with fear sinking deeper into his bones because this can't be happening. Kakashi _can’t_ be here. He should have never come. He never should have put himself at risk over someone like Iruka, someone who doesn't deserve to have one of the village's best die over someone who is dispensable.

Iruka feels strength like he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever when he tries to surge forward, not caring that Bear’s hands dig into the bruises and cuts on his shoulders. He finds his quivering voice when he exclaims, “Kakashi!” Bear yanks him back against the chair, but Iruka strains against the hold, trying to lean forward, panic washing his face white. _They’re going to kill him, they’re going to fucking kill him,_ he thinks wildly. “What are you doing here!”

Kakashi’s head snaps up, his eye focusing on Iruka, something dark and hollow in his gaze. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he says, his voice rough like gravel. “I should have come sooner.”

"You shouldn't have come," Iruka says, choking on the words as his eyes prickle with tears that he tries to hold back. Iruka knows what's coming, knows what Yaite, with all his hate and anger and bitterness, plans to do to make Kakashi suffer. "You should have never come!"

Iruka’s words echo loudly in the space of the room, bouncing off the cracked walls.

Kakashi’s damaged eye slowly curves into an arc, and Iruka knows that somehow, he’s smiling underneath that mask.  “You’re my husband, Iruka,” he says softly. “How could I not?”

"I am not." Iruka shakes his head, shaking his head and scrunching his eyes shut. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!" Iruka flinches and shudders when Yaite's fist connects solidly with the side of Kakashi's face, jerking in his seat at the suddenness of the harsh impact. Iruka can almost hear Kakashi's nose and cheekbone crack under that fist, and he stares, open mouthed, sucking in harsh breaths through shocked, palpable tears. "Stop. Please, stop," Iruka begs, looking at Yaite imploringly.

Iruka has no dignity left. It had left him the moment they had managed to make him admit the most painful part about being Kakashi's husband, how none of it had been real.

_“Please!”_

Kakashi’s breath comes out of him in shuddering gasps, and Iruka can see the way his body trembles as he struggles against his bonds. He thrashes slightly, and the action only results in another harsh blow and crack, sending Kakashi’s head whipping into the other direction, an arc of blood flying through the air.

Yaite laughs maniacally as Kakashi’s shoulders slump and his head drops to his chest, his breath labored as he sucks in wet, wheezing breaths.

When he looks up at Iruka again, it’s as though it takes all of his effort to raise his head. “Iruka,” he whispers, breath shaking. “Close your eyes. Don’t watch.”

But Iruka isn't able to look away.

He's never been able to look away from Kakashi.

He watches and screams as his voice goes hoarse and the bonds on his wrist tear through skin and dig into soft flesh, while they take turns beating Kakashi down, over and over again, until his face is almost completely unrecognizable, nothing more than a mess of flesh and shattered bones, held together by the torn fabric of his mask.

Iruka watches as Kakashi slumps and no longer moves and when they cut the ropes around his wrists free, Kakashi lists to the side and falls heavily to the ground.

 _“Kakashi!”_ Iruka screams, thrashing in his chair. “Get up! Please, _please_ get up!”

But Kakashi lies there, silent and still, and a slow, sinking horror dawns on Iruka as his eyes sweep over Kakashi’s prone, broken frame.

He’s dead, Iruka thinks in shock, eyes wide and filled with tears.

Iruka’s never going to see him smile again. Never going to hear him laugh again. He’ll never feel the warmth of him along his side at dawn, or notice the quiet way his eyes would always seem to settle upon Iruka wherever he was in the room. He’s never going to even be able to tell him that he’s sorry, that he never should have brought someone home, that it wasn’t a lie, that he loves him, that he has for a long, long time. That Iruka would do anything, would give up _everything,_ even himself, if Kakashi would just get up and start breathing again, start fighting again, _anything_ again.

Bear hauls him off the chair, dragging him away from Kakashi's body, ignoring how Iruka begs them to wait, please wait, please, please, let me say goodbye!

They don't listen to him.

And when Iruka feels the stone floors scrape against his wounds and the part of him that somehow is still whole, he presses his forehead to the floor and begs for forgiveness, over and over again, from a man who probably won't even get to have a proper burial, who will be nothing more than a name on a stone, a hero who had simply died because he had tried to save his husband. A husband who had not been worth it, at all.

Iruka thought that he couldn't possibly shed any more tears, that his voice was not capable of working anymore, that he had nothing else to spill out because Yaite and his men had taken everything from him. How wrong Iruka had been.

He had Kakashi still, tucked somewhere in the deepest crevice of his being.

And now, Kakashi is gone.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know what you're all thinking. Don't worry. There are a lot more chapters to come.
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> Highly recommend checking out the song recommendation above. 
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	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** Canon typical violence and shounen craziness
> 
>  **Soundtrack** \- [Tommy Profitt feat. Mike Mains - Hero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziZJeM25tzg) | [Tommy Profitt feat. Sam Tinnesz - Caught in the Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwUiCWGzwDg)

At the end of the world, all Kakashi could see was Obito.

For a moment, he thought he was dreaming, hallucinating the memory of a ghost that he devoted the past eighteen years of his life trying to keep alive because Obito said he wanted to live on as Kakashi's eye and see the future through him. He wanted to see the future, so Kakashi tried his best to stay alive, to give Obito the future he'd never have.

He would stand up and fight when he wanted to give up, keep on breathing even when he wanted it all to stop. Through all those long nights of blood, and so many burials that sometimes, Kakashi thought his life was one long funeral song, he lived, and kept on living to keep them all alive. To memorialize the past just enough so that it could be dragged into the future with him. This would be the one promise he would try his best to keep, even if it was bound to be broken like all the promises he ever made, because Kakashi was just one man. And he could not live forever.

All those years of mourning, of loss. Of giving up more of himself to the altar of memory, and Obito had been alive all along.

For a single, shining heartbeat of recognition, when Kakashi realized it really was Obito standing there, exactly as he would have been if he had never died, Kakashi felt a surge of emotion that was almost joy.

It could have been beautiful. It should have been beautiful, because Obito was alive. He was alive, but every bone in Kakashi's body wanted to scream because it was all wrong. He blinked and standing before him wasn't the boy he remembered, the one whose memory he gave eighteen years of love and devotion in neverending mourning, but a monster shaped into the body of a man that couldn't be Obito.

Even if Uchiha Madara had gotten his hands on Obito somehow and delivered him from death, Obito — kind, gentle, stupid Obito — was a better shinobi than Kakashi could ever hope to be, a shinobi who would never abandon his friends, could never betray his village. He would have come home, back to the people who loved him, to the place where he belonged. He wouldn't have followed Uchiha Madara to the ends of the earth just to watch it burn.

But Obito never did come back.

_(You let Rin die.)_

It was then that Kakashi knew.

He had done this.

The world was ending, and Obito was the one ending it because Kakashi was the trash that abandoned everyone he loved and let them all die, leaving a path of broken bodies in his wake. Kakashi was trash, and Rin was dead, and to Obito, a world with no Rin was a world with no meaning, when the lives they lived could not really even be called lives at all. When they were all disposable weapons in a system as broken as the reality Obito would sacrifice anything to destroy to bring her back.

_The whole world could burn and Obito didn't care because Rin was no longer in it._

And though he claimed that it wasn't just Rin or what Kakashi did, but the system, Kakashi knew because he felt it as clearly as the killing intent that boiled in Obito's blood. Saw it as clearly as the hole Obito had him place in his chest. _The windhole opened by this hell of a world,_ Obito had called it, but Kakashi knew it was something else, because he had carried grief inside him long enough to know what it truly was.

A mourning that just _never_ ends.

He had done that to Obito. Turned a boy into a monster. Made him want to burn down the world just to undo what Kakashi had done.

Kakashi hadn’t understood how it felt to love someone so desperately, so completely, that it would be impossible to imagine a world where they were not there. He never thought he would know the depths of a love so consuming, so overwhelming, that every breath in a world without them was a breath not worth taking.

But as he chases Iruka’s fading scent with his pack through the dense forests of Fire, Kakashi thinks he finally understands a little more of what Obito must have felt — a rage so visceral and blinding, it numbs all other senses. It becomes his singular focus, narrowing his world in on the sole purpose of rescuing Iruka and destroying anyone who might dare to get in his way.

There is something terrifying about it all — the depths Kakashi would go.

He could probably start a war,  if it meant bringing Iruka home alive.

 

*

 

They run for hours.

Eventually, the trail takes them to the border of Fire and River, and stops at a rocky outcrop that opens into a decrepit, rundown stone tower, which must have originally been one of the lookouts of an ancient stronghold now fallen into disrepair.

This area had been home to some of the greatest clans during the Sengoku Era, when clans rose and fell and empires changed hands with each rise and set of the sun. Ancient strongholds like this were plentiful throughout the land.

Kakashi can see why Iruka’s captors had chosen this one. While most of the stronghold had crumbled apart, the tower still stood, rising high up on a cliff with a steep vertical drop into the white waters of the roaring river below. Its location meant that there was only one point of entry and egress — and it also meant that anyone approaching on land would be easily spotted.

From his perch on the branch of a large tree, Kakashi can make out several shadowy figures standing guard on top of the tower as lookouts, and several more at the base. Yet a few more are positioned further out, slowly making their rounds across the grounds.

“Oi, Kakashi,” Pakkun grumbles from his side, looking up at him with large, concerned eyes. “What do you want us to do now?”

Kakashi considers the situation. Given the position of the tower, there is simply no conceivable way he’d be able to get in easily, undetected, during the day. They had run for about five hours, which meant that it was close to midnight. That gives him about six hours to get in, neutralize anyone who might get in the way, rescue Iruka, and exfiltrate him — all before sunrise.

“I need you to recon the area and let me know how many hostiles we’re dealing with. If one of you can also get inside and figure out where Iruka is, that would be ideal,” Kakashi explains, and the pug nods sagely as he takes in Kakashi’s orders.

“Don’t worry, Kakashi,” Pakkun tells him, placing the pad of a paw on his knee, as though trying to reassure him. “We’re gonna get ‘im back.”

“Iruka’s my second-favorite human,” Bisuke says softly from the adjacent branch. “He gives the best belly rubs.”

“And he makes the best treats!” Akino chimes in with a sage nod of the head.

Bull gruffly _woofs_ in agreement, and soon, there is a chorus of soft barks and wagging tails.

“Well, we can’t leave him waiting, can we?” Pakkun pats Kakashi’s knee again with his paw and then turns to look at the pack. “Let’s go!”

The pack jump down to the forest floor, moving silently like shadows through the night as they streak towards the stronghold. It doesn’t take long for Shiba to return back, tongue lolling as he pants for breath.

“We sniffed out twenty-two humans on the grounds,” the small dog explains. “Pakkun and Bisuke are tryna’ get in, but there’s six of ‘em at the door, so I dunno if they’re gonna have an easy time. Pakkun said two of ‘em  smell real dangerous. Real bad fellows, he said.”

With so many shinobi, Kakashi is considerably outnumbered, but he only really has to be concerned about the S-ranks. The rest of them most likely would go down easily without too much of a fight. But, with Iruka’s safety at stake, Kakashi decides that subterfuge and stealth is more important than his desire to punish everyone responsible.

Pakkun soon returns with the rest of the pack, and from the way he holds his head, Kakashi knows that he must not have been able to gain entry. “No good, Kakashi,” the pug says, confirming his suspicions. “We couldn’t get in, but I could smell Iruka inside. He’s hurt.”

“How bad?” Kakashi asks after a moment of hesitation.

“It ain’t good at all,” Pakkun says, the wrinkles on his face pronounced with worry, and Bisuke whimpers softly with concern, tucking his tail between his legs. “You best go and get ‘im outta there.”

Kakashi doesn’t have to be told twice.

He goes.

 

*

 

The killing comes easily, as it always does.

They die silently without ever seeing their killer’s face.

He strikes from the shadows, on feet moving whispersoft; chakra tightly suppressed, blood and steel glinting in moonlight. He attacks where they are most soft — a stab to the jugular, a kunai through the heart.

It’s almost pathetic, the way they all go down without a fight.

These men are unfit to be shinobi, Kakashi thinks, as he drops down behind his next target and plunges two kunai into the opposite sides of his throat, barely feeling the hot explosion of blood as it coats his hands. He doesn’t stick around long enough to watch the man fall.

There’s a part of him that tells himself he doesn’t have to kill them all. But the part of him that can’t stop thinking _Iruka is hurt_ — the part of him that’s a violent, raging storm — doesn’t hold back when he otherwise could. Doesn’t show mercy, when he otherwise would.

They disappear one by one, dragged into the forest by shadows moving close to the ground.

By the time anyone will have noticed them missing, it’ll be far too late.

Kakashi regroups with his ninken, and picks through the pile of bodies they’d dragged off the field. He selects a man who’s about his height and build, and with a flick of the fingers and a burst of chakra, he executes henge no jutsu and transforms.

Five minutes later, he strolls right into the tower with another man’s face and clothes.

The guards don’t even bother to spare him a second look.

Once inside, Kakashi quickly glances around to assess his surroundings, dimly lit with burning braziers that cast long shadows in the dark. From what he can tell, he’s standing in what must have once been the open courtyard of the tower. Just before him are the remnants of a winding staircase that leads to the roof, where half a dozen shinobi stand guard. To the east and west, the courtyard opens into long halls filled with countless rooms.

Kakashi crouches down and places a hand on the ground, letting his chakra quietly unfurl, reaching deep down into the earth, and discovers that the building goes far deeper than the eye lets on. There must be a dungeon under all of this packed dirt and stone — and if there’s a dungeon, then that would mean Iruka is most likely being kept there.

It doesn’t take long for Kakashi to find the staircase that leads down below ground. Each step feels like an eternity, each breath dragging on far too slowly, as Kakashi makes his way through empty halls and empty rooms. He can sense a strong chakra signature coming from somewhere on this level, but can’t sense Iruka’s at all.

Either Iruka’s chakra is being suppressed, or he isn’t in one of these rooms.

Kakashi has to believe that Iruka is still alive, still breathing. That he’s managed to hold out all this time. He has to believe that Iruka hasn’t given up hope, that he knows Kakashi would come for him, that he’s continued to fight to survive. He has to believe that Iruka isn’t too broken or too hurt. That he can still recover from this and heal.

Kakashi has to believe it because he must, because the alternative is unbearable.

Firelight flickers at the very end of the hall, emanating from one of the rooms, and Kakashi picks up his pace, breaking into a run. And that’s when he smells it — coppery and bright and sharp.

Blood.

So much of it, that Kakashi reels, as everything inside him stills. And he forgets that he’s supposed to be careful, that he’s supposed to be maintaining a disguise. Forgets that he’d meant to use more stealth. Because all that he can smell and taste is the blood in the air, and that can only mean one thing:

_He’s too late._

Kakashi doesn’t just run — he shunshins right to the door and slams it open, coming face to face with a man twice his size, blinking down at him in confusion. The man’s brow furrows as his eyes narrow, and he’s asking Kakashi a question — something about why he’s here, shouldn’t he be upstairs performing guard duty? But all Kakashi can hear is the roar in his ears, and the pounding in his blood. And all he can see before him is Iruka — strapped to a chair, head hanging, body slumped, dressed in nothing but his underwear.

Kakashi doesn’t know if Iruka’s breathing, if he’s even alive. There’s a storm in his chest and all Kakashi can feel is the icy rush of fingers closing around his lungs. Squeezing until he has no breath left. Until all that’s left of him in this moment is the taste of burning in his mouth and the shaking of the world around him, which reaches up inside him and shakes him on the inside, too. Rips him apart at the very foundations.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, purple lightning _blasts_ out of him in every direction, and stabs straight through the shinobi standing before him. It cuts through him like butter, every muscle in the ninja’s body seizing up with electricity as he shakes, eyes rolling up into his head. In seconds, Kakashi coalesces Shiden around his fist, and he punches straight through the solid chest blocking his way to Iruka, tearing through muscle and sinew and bone, and the soft, fleshy pulp of his heart.

He rips his arm back, and shoves the heavy wall of flesh that used to be a man out of his way, and in the space of three steps, drops onto a knee before Iruka as he releases the henge.

A storm is coming.

Kakashi can feel it in his bones.

Can feel it inside his body, too — a feeling far too large for just one man. It tears through him, ruthless, makes him come apart at the seams with his breath breaking in two as he holds back the surge. Swallows it down the way he's been doing his whole life, until all that's left is just the burning in his eyes and the burning in his chest and the lightning in his fist that hasn't yet made a hole in all the men responsible for the horror he sees before him.

Blood drips slowly from cracked lips and from Iruka’s nose, dribbling down onto a fresh battlefield of burns and dark bruises. Iruka’s hair is damp and tinged with blood, his skin pale. Kakashi reads the wounds on his body, sees the fists that had struck him in the shapes of bruises and lacerations across his chest. He sees the violence written across his skin, the cruelty of it. Sees the rage that had broken Iruka’s legs, the hatred in it.

The sight of it sends something violent raging through his blood, and all Kakashi wants to do is feel bone crunching under his hands, muscle coming apart between his fingers.

Something terrible and raw finds its way out of him in a broken breath as he reaches out with trembling, bloodied fingers, and presses them against Iruka’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

 _Please be alive,_ he thinks desperately, as his fingers slide down Iruka’s throat.

Relief floods through him when he feels the answering thrum of Iruka’s heart.

“Iruka…” Kakashi whispers, and he gingerly reaches up to brush bloodied, matted hair out of Iruka’s face. Cradles it so gently, as though he’s terrified that just touching him alone might break him more than he’s already broken. “Can you hear me?”  

Iruka makes a soft, incoherent sound, and when Kakashi says his name again, his swollen eyes slowly crack open. The look he gives Kakashi is delirious and glassy and confused, and then his expression morphs into something terrified and broken as a tear streaks down his battered face. “You shouldn’t have come,” he murmurs, his words slurred and hoarse; and then he says it again, and again, and again, and something in Kakashi shatters, and all he can do is reach forward and press their foreheads together.

“You’re my husband,” Kakashi reminds him quietly. “It’s my duty to protect you.”

Something in Iruka turns traitorously warm at the words of affection and devotion, soft words that he thinks are a lie and a waste of time. Iruka knows that it is his guilt causing the image before him to manifest, to actually feel the warmth of those hands against his cheek, a balm to his wounds and the ice under his skin. Iruka knows that he's seeing a ghost of a man who holds the entirety of Iruka’s heart.

Devastation cuts across his face, dripping with tears, as crimson coated teeth flash and swollen lips tremble. This is the wrong picture; Kakashi no longer had a face. They had smashed it repeatedly with their vengeful fists. It's all wrong. Iruka knows this.

"You're a lie. You're not even really here. You should have left me." His voice comes out brokenly.

Kakashi pulls back a little, brow furrowing as he searches Iruka’s eyes for a moment and reads only fear and shame and grief, as a quiet realization dawns.

Iruka think he’s a genjutsu, or a hallucination.

Iruka doesn’t think he’s really here, even with Kakashi holding his face.

In the distance, Kakashi can feel larger chakra signatures starting to move. They don’t have a lot of time to talk, and in order for them to get out of here, alive, he’s going to need Iruka to believe in him and know that he’s really here.

He sighs and circles behind Iruka, cutting his hands loose and, with a quick burst of Shiden, breaks right through the cuffs that had sealed his chakra, then crouches once more in front of Iruka. With Iruka so disoriented and scared, Kakashi thinks maybe he needs to see something he can trust, something only he would know, and no one else. So, he raises a hand and hooks his fingers into his mask, pulling it down under his chin.

“Iruka,” he tries again, softly. “It’s really me. I’m sorry I got here so late...”

Somewhere through the cloudy haze of pain, Iruka feels his grief amputated, falling to the ground as Kakashi's face — perfect, unbroken, _whole_ — looms before his eyes. Iruka sees silver stubble, slightly thicker than what he remembers, sees the scar cutting over his left upper lip, the birthmark that dots a face none of his captors could possibly know. The hope that follows the loss of grief, though, is an open wound — raw like the sob of relief that falls from Iruka's lips, and as real as the face that he feels in his palms. Blood, grime, and dirt smears across Kakashi's face, which is so warm. Iruka cherishes the feel of it under his palms, grounds himself with its warmth, even when it hurts to move, even as his arms tremble with the effort to even reach out like this.

"They'll kill you," Iruka sobs out, and the fear in his voice is palpable, thick like the blood that continues to dribble past his lips, fingers struggling to bring Kakashi’s mask back up. "They'll kill you, you need to go. I'm dead weight. Leave, please, just leave." He doesn’t just plead. He _begs_.

Kakashi understands, at that moment, what Iruka must have been seeing under the influence of genjutsu. It makes sense now — why Iruka had said _you should have left me._ Why he couldn’t believe Kakashi was real.

“Iruka,” Kakashi says, as his fingers slide up and cover Iruka’s shaking ones, helping him pull the mask back up. “I might not remember it, but I know it must have happened — I made you a promise when we got married, that I would protect you till death do us part. I intend to keep that promise, even if neither of us remember the getting married part.” He pauses for a moment as he lets go of Iruka’s hands and reaches into his utility pack to pull out his medical kit. “Maa, even if we weren’t married, I would never abandon a friend. Especially one who promised me a meal delivery plan.”

Iruka's eyes close then, and it would be easy to just remain like that — to shut his eyes and remain blind to the hope that is as bright as a star kneeling before him, trying to piece him back together, wanting to take him home. Iruka can smell the fresh blood on Kakashi, can smell his vengeance, and imagines that he had torn through walls of bodies to get to him. Something in him trembles at that thought, turning to something soft as he realizes how Kakashi was willing to go through such lengths to get to him, that he's willing to spill more blood for him. It's terrifying.

And a part of him, the traitorous and small part of him that he had tried to suppress, makes him look up at Kakashi, watching the motions of his hands as Kakashi takes out a soldier pill.

"I didn't lie to you," Iruka murmurs, barely above a whisper. "It wasn't a lie..."

Everything inside of Kakashi spins to a stop. He forgets how to breathe as he parses the words when they hit him squarely, somewhere between the ribs. It wasn’t a lie, Iruka says, but that would mean the truth is that Iruka really is in love with him. And maybe if they weren’t in a dank, dark cell with a dead man lying at the door and chakra signatures slowly moving towards them, Kakashi might stop and pause. He might think about what it meant, for it to not be a lie.

But Iruka is broken and bleeding and now is not the time for them to talk about the truth.

Survival is far more important.

“We can talk about that later. Take this for now. It’ll help with the pain,” he says, as he presses the soldier pill into Iruka’s palm, and then looks up at Iruka. “I’m going to need you to be brave and fight just a little longer. Can you do that?”

The pill goes down, and the effect is almost immediate — adrenaline floods through Iruka’s veins, the intense pain fading to a dull ache. Clarity rises with each blink and Iruka feels strength in his body that he hasn't felt in a long time. He sucks in several breaths, feels every bruise and injury, the burn that can only mean the beginning of an infection in some of the open wounds on his back, and the shattered bones in his legs.  "Yes," he says, grit in his voice, as he shifts a little in his seat, grinding his teeth with the effort.

Kakashi hums softly, and gives Iruka’s arm a gentle squeeze. He then unzips his vest and slides it off himself, then gently helps Iruka into it. “You’re going to need this more than me,” he explains, and then his eyes flick down to Iruka’s legs. It’s apparent, by the look of them, that Iruka isn’t going to be able to walk, which is going to make exfiltration a little more challenging — but not impossible.  

But first, they’ll need to do something about stabilizing them to make it easier to move Iruka.

Kakashi glances around the room and decides that the wooden chair across from Iruka would have to work as far as materials go. He breaks the legs, and with a swift kunai slice, splits the wood neatly in half. He uses this to fashion splints for both of Iruka’s legs, binding them tightly with gauze and medical tape. Then, he shifts his attention to Iruka’s lack of clothing.

Kakashi turns to examine the body at the door. The man is far larger than either of them, but his pants will have to work to protect Iruka from the elements. Kakashi strips off the man’s shoes, and then starts to divest him of his pants. It’s not easy, getting them on Iruka — the pain is excruciating, even with the soldier pill. But, Iruka manages to stay strong through it, and though he looks ridiculous, at least he’s dressed.

It takes only seconds, after that, for Kakashi to summon his ninken once more.

The pack emerges in a cloud of smoke, and Bisuke immediately whimpers when he spots Iruka and trots over, looking up at him with great concern. “Are you ok?” he asks.

“I’m alright,” Iruka murmurs, and attempts to reach out, as if to pet Bisuke, but stops midway.

“He don’t look too great,” Pakkun comments as he frowns, his small face exceptionally wrinkled with worry.

“Bull, come here,” Kakashi orders, and the giant summon carefully walks over, seeming to immediately understand the intent in the command. He lies down on his belly before Iruka, then looks up at him patiently. “Iruka, do you think you can manage to get on Bull’s back?”

All the color washes out of Iruka’s face. “Give me a hand,” he says, and presses a bloody palm against Bull’s flank. Kakashi nods in understanding and carefully slides an arm under Iruka’s knees, and another around his back, then hoists him up, gingerly placing him astride Bull, as Iruka hisses in pain, teeth grinding together.

“I need you to go out there and create a distraction for the shinobi coming our way,” Kakashi says to the rest of the pack.

“You can count on us!” Pakkun declares, then exchanges looks with the rest of the pack, who follow him to the door. Bisuke gives Iruka another worried look, but then joins the rest of the pack as they run out the door.

Kakashi then turns to look at Bull. “Bull, when you find an opening, get Iruka out of here. Your only mission is to get him to safety.”

Bull barks a low response, then rises onto his feet.

Kakashi’s gaze washes over Iruka. He looks like hell, but at least the soldier pill seems to have returned the fight back into his eyes — they’re determined, resolved. What hopelessness Iruka had felt when Kakashi had found him seems to have faded entirely, and Kakashi can feel from the steady pulse of his chakra that he’s ready for whatever might come their way. He unfastens his shuriken holster from his thigh, and hands it to Iruka, along with a kunai.  After a second of thought, he decides to unfasten his utility belt entirely.

“Here,” he says, as he straps the belt to Iruka. “I hope you’re not going to need it, but just in case.”

Iruka nods stiffly, eyes meeting his briefly, and Kakashi reads something brave in them. Something that feels like hope. “What about you? Aren’t you going to need weapons?”

“Don’t worry.” Kakashi reaches forward then, and unclasps a few of the scroll pouches on the front of his vest, removing the scrolls. He can feel Iruka’s gaze on him as he pockets one and unfurls another on the ground. “I’m always prepared.”

His fingers flick through seals and he presses all five against the seal mark on the scroll. Through a cloud of smoke, a weapons cache emerges. Kakashi straps a katana to his back, and snaps on a fresh utility belt with a slightly larger weapons pouch, like the one they had all worn during the Fourth Great Ninja War.

He glances at Iruka. “Are you ready?”

Iruka doesn't think he's wanted to a leave a place as much as he does right now, to feel the yearning so deep for the safety of Konoha's walls and the smell of fresh air billowing through the trees. He's never missed home and the feel of the sun on his skin, the noise of children running through hallways and the bustle of the streets, paper under his fingers, smudged with red and blue ink. Or to hear the soft call of _tadaima_ from the genkan, and listen to soft footsteps and the appreciative hums that go hand in hand with the clink of cutlery. Home has never felt so far away in what feels like forever. It's an ache so foreign that Iruka wishes that he wasn't so soft, that Yaite's accusations weren't true.

Kakashi would never leave a comrade behind. Iruka had known this from the beginning. He should have never have doubted him, never should have allowed his insecurities and their messy arrangement cloud that judgment. For this, Iruka feels shame.

The other things — the softer things — Iruka locks away as he sucks in a deep breath and nods, fingers tightening around the kunai, his other hand fisting around Bull's collar in a vice. "Let's go."

 

*

 

They race towards freedom, towards the battle exploding above them in the courtyard.

The ninken had performed their jobs admirably, leading all shinobi who might block their way above ground, clearing a path for Kakashi, Iruka, and Bull to escape. The darkened corridors are empty, with burning braziers their only companions as they race towards the silvery patch of moonlight in the distance.

They’re so close to freedom that Kakashi can almost feel the night air on his skin, can smell smoke wafting from the battle above.

But just as they begin to close the final stretch to the stairs, an inexorable _blast_ of killing intent slams into them like a tidal wave in the midst of a storm, rolling forward in an explosion of fire that burns everything in its path.

Kakashi flows before Iruka and Bull in a blur of motion as his fingers fly through seals and he slams his hands on the ground, a thick wall of mud bursting up through the stone floor and breaking into the ceiling. Even through the wall of earth, the intense heat of the flames beyond burns straight through.

“Are you okay?” Kakashi snaps a glance over his shoulder at Iruka.

"I'm fine!" Iruka calls out, an arm over his nose as he coughs out dust and soot. "Don't worry about me!"

Kakashi nods and straightens up, then considers their situation. In order for them to escape, he’s going to have to drop the wall he’d just brought up — but that would mean potentially opening them up to another blast of fire. “Well, I suppose we aren’t getting out that way,” he says, as he glances up at the stone ceiling above them, and then at Bull. “Back up a little.”

Bull complies, putting some distance between himself and Kakashi, who pulls out four kunai and a length of wire, to which he fastens exploding tags; he then throws the kunai straight into the ceiling, creating a square. Another blast of fire slams into the mud wall, and Kakashi skids back to Bull and Iruka, then draws his fingers into a seal, igniting the tags.

The ceiling explodes, sending debris and rubble flying as smoke and dust fills the air, the blast sending a shock wave past them.

Kakashi charges forward, gathering lightning in his fist to blast through the wall of debris before them, clearing a path to the opening he’d made above. He races to the surface with Bull and Iruka hot on his heels as they charge up the rubble and jump up out into the courtyard, which is soaked in blood and strewn with limbs and shredded bodies that were once men.

The scene of carnage is enough to make everything in Iruka come to a halting stop. War spreads around him and in the middle of it, stands Kakashi, fists tight and alight with crackling thunder. There is rage all around him, the pack snarling and tearing flesh asunder at their master’s command. And when Kakashi turns to look at him, to make sure he's still safe and unharmed, when their eyes meet, Iruka isn't sure what scares him more: the lengths Kakashi would go through to keep a comrade safe, or the concern and something else — something powerful and raw that feels like fire and burns like a storm — that flickers under the razor sharp focus of eyes belonging to a man —  a monster the world has come to know, with rivers of blood dripping down his fingers — who had torn through the distance between Konoha and wherever this hell is to bring Iruka home.

"He won't stop, Kakashi," Iruka finds himself saying, his voice trembling in the wake of that gaze, as the earth shakes under their feet. "Moyasu Yaite will stop at nothing!"

As though speaking his name alone was enough to summon him, from the hole through which they’d escaped, _hell_ explodes, sending both Bull and Kakashi skidding back away from the force. And through the flames, a figure emerges, eyes like two vacuous black holes in a sea of molten heat.

Kakashi stares at the enemy before him — at the burning pillar of fire that slowly coalesces into the shape of a man. Yaite doesn’t just control fire — he is its very essence. His kekkei genkai is unlike any other — it’s what makes him so dangerous and so difficult to kill.

Slowly, his flesh comes together, skin emerging from flames that sluggishly flicker out, until Yaite stands before them. His eyes cut into Kakashi.

“Hatake Kakashi,” he sneers, his upper lip drawing back to reveal his crooked yellow teeth. “Did you really think I’d let you escape with your husband still alive?”

Kakashi stares flatly at the man before him, shoulders deceptively relaxed as purple lightning continues to crackle at his fingertips. In his peripheral vision, he can see his pack still tearing through the remainder of the mercenaries that had made the mistake of thinking this would be an easy job.  “Ah, sorry,” he responds flippantly. “You seem to be mistaken. The only one of us who won’t be escaping here today is you.” Kakashi’s eyes narrow as the cold, quiet rage inside of him, waiting just under the surface, unleashes in a _snap_ of killing intent so strong, it’s like an electric current.  

Even with several yards between them, and the embodiment of lightning standing between Iruka and that all-consuming flame, Iruka can't stop the tremble that begins somewhere deep inside of him. Yaite intends to kill them both, but Kakashi intends to _murder._ Iruka almost chokes under the pressure of Kakashi’s killing intent, frozen on Bull's back, ice in his lungs. Iruka has felt murder before, has felt rage in more fights he can count during the war and on missions. But this — this is _godlike._

His fingers dig into Bull's flesh as Yaite throws back his head and cackles with hideous laughter, and it’s quite possibly the most terrible sound he’s ever heard.

“If you think you’ll be able to beat me again, you’re the one who’s mistaken,” Yaite hisses as his right hand bursts into flames, which he curls into a fist. “Hatake Kakashi, you will suffer, the way I’ve suffered all these years. You will know pain like _nothing_ you’ve ever felt. You will watch the love of your life burn alive before your very eyes and you will be _helpless_ to stop it. And he will know, as his flesh peels from his face and his blood _boils_ , that it’s all because of _you!”_

Yaite’s eyes burn into Iruka, and all Iruka can feel is the sensation of those fingers against his face, tracing his jawline, words that sounded like honey, but belied the violence that always followed after. It’s enough to make Iruka nearly swallow his own tongue, having those eyes directed at him, to hear Yaite speak to him this way.

“Such a pity.” Yaite clucks his tongue lightly. “He does have such a _pretty_ face.”

Iruka opens his mouth to tell Yaite that he’d rather kill himself, than ever feel Yaite’s hands on him again, but he doesn’t get the chance, because Kakashi _growls_ and purple lightning explodes outwards, tendrils of electricity emanating from his entire body as it condenses and then blasts straight out at Yaite, who immediately goes up in flames, just as the bolt slams into him and sends him flying into the far wall.

“Bull!” Kakashi calls, as the lightning withdraws and gathers into his fist, crackling violently. “Get Iruka out of here, _now!”_ He doesn’t look back as he surges forward, a torrent of fire bearing down on him, which he splits with lightning.

Iruka flattens himself against Bull’s back as the giant summon immediately starts charging towards the exit, but they only manage to get a few yards before a river of fire chases them down and explodes up towards the sky, the heat unbearable. His arms go up on instinct to protect his head, voice cutting through the roar of fire. “I’m okay! Keep going if you can!” he calls to Bull, the summon’s paws skidding to a grinding halt when they find themselves surrounded by a wall of impenetrable fire.

“Did you really think you could get away?” Yaite roars from within the depths of the flames as the wall of fire before Iruka starts to crash right down on him. Iruka doesn’t think twice when his hands fly up to form seals, chakra blasting into a whirlwind of flames, the force of his flames exploding through the wall.

On the other side of the battlefield, an earth wall bursts out of the ground, just as another merciless wave of fire comes crashing down.

Kakashi crouches behind it, two columns of fire scorching the air on either side of him. The heat is relentless, crushing — sweat drips down his forehead, soaks through his mask and shirt. This is the shape of Yaite’s hatred made whole. Kakashi thinks he can feel the very molecules of his being set on fire.

Just beyond the flames, he can hear the rush of the river and the promise that lies in its currents. Fighting a shinobi who is fire made corporeal doesn’t make for the easiest of opponents, but this is not a battle Kakashi can lose — there’s far too much at stake. And he refuses to ever let Yaite hurt Iruka again.

There is a brief moment, whenever Yaite is injured, that he turns corporeal — and it’s in that infinitesimal window of opportunity that Kakashi must make his move.

Raising his fingers into the seal of kage bunshin, Kakashi produces a lightning clone, and the moment the flames die down, the clone immediately rushes out, a current of Shiden crackling over his arm, which he slams down on the ground. Purple lightning courses over the earth and stabs up under Yaite’s feet as the clone charges forward, while Kakashi flanks right and darts up the wall.

With Yaite distracted and a brief opening presenting itself just as the wall of fire clears for a halting moment, Bull leaps through scorched earth and smoke, Iruka pressing down against his back. A nearly deafening crack of thunder exploding makes Iruka look back, when he should have been focused on looking ahead. And far across the courtyard, he watches as Kakashi’s clone explodes in a crackle of lighting and Kakashi, the real one, disappears over the wall.  
  
There is a moment that lasts no longer than two heart beats at most, the world slowing around him, when a small part of him, the part that does not want to fall into Yaite’s hands again, the weakest and most human part of him, is terrified that Kakashi left.  
  
The feeling disappears when Iruka looks forward again, as Bull leaps to the right, and thinks no, Kakashi would never abandon his comrades.

The gate looms before them, towering high above. The sight of it is almost a relief, and Iruka tells Bull that they’re close, that just a little more and they can use the forest as cover. But just before they can cross the threshold, Iruka grunts and his fingers fist when Bull tries to come to a halt, paws digging into gravel and rubble as the wall of heat erupts in front of them, blocking their path once more. The fire consumes everything in its path, burning away the overgrown foliage to nothing, soot and ash falling around them like snowfall.

Behind him, Yaite laughs maniacally, and the sound tears through Iruka like the heat before him.

“So, it seems that your husband has decided to leave you behind.” Yaite’s voice is verging on something wild and hysterical, and when Iruka turns to look at him, he sees that Yaite’s face has emerged from the flames, though the rest of him is still burning. “I seem to have overestimated Hatake Kakashi’s love for you!”

“No.” Iruka’s eyes narrow at that hideous face, resolve as strong as steel in his words.“You underestimate his ability and shinobi way!”  
  
_(I would never abandon a friend.)_

Under the firelit sky, an enormous beast rises above the far wall Kakashi had disappeared behind. Iruka realizes a split second later that it’s the silhouette of a dragon, and on its head stands Kakashi. His hair gleams silvery white in the moonlight, which casts an ethereal glow around his body.

 

The dragon rises impossibly higher, torrents of water dripping from its watery maw, and Iruka watches, shocked, as tendrils of purple lightning explode from Kakashi’s body as he leaps up towards the sky, shooting lightning towards the heavens.

(For a moment, Iruka swears he sees a purple lion roaring up into the sky.)

A deafening clap of thunder shatters Iruka’s hearing a moment later, and he’s completely unprepared for what comes next. Clouds part overhead, the stars clearer than they’ve ever been — until they suddenly disappear as lightning _pours_ down from the sky and electrifies the watery dragon crashing down, down, down.

Yaite screams as he gathers his flames, a pillar of fire shooting up towards the sky in an attempt to evaporate the water before it can put out his flames — but the torrent of lightning stabs through the mouth of the dragon and carves deep into the earth, a blast so intense and hot, Iruka can feel the hairs on his arms rising, can smell the ozone burning through the air. And night turns briefly into day as a massive shockwave _blasts_ outwards from where a burning man once stood, leveling the walls of the tower, and nearly sending Bull and Iruka flying with the sheer force.

An unforgiving tsunami of water roars down seconds later, threatening to wash away everything in its path.

Bull charges through barely standing gates as electrified water and burning rubble rains down from the sky, and Iruka looks back, arm raised over his head to shield himself from the blast. His heart stops when his eyes snap on a falling shadow, and he realizes that it’s Kakashi — falling, plummeting down from the sky towards the river below. Shinobi are trained to fall properly, even from staggering heights. But this — this isn’t right at all. Kakashi isn’t conscious, Iruka realizes as he watches him fall, with the syllables of Kakashi’s name frozen in the prison of his throat.

The world around him falls to a hush where nothing else matters —  not the rumble of crushing rocks falling, not the sound of water splashing down and washing over stone, or even the howl of the pack in the distance; the only thing Iruka can hear is the sound of his heart thundering under his rib cage and blood rushing in his ears, as he watches with the same sheer horror that feels too much like all those years ago, when the sky burned red, and he watched as Kyuubi devoured his parents.

In the space of a second, Iruka wonders what had happened. What had gone wrong. His mind tries to process what he’s seeing, tries to quell the choking sense of loss, factors in the journey to wherever the hell they are, the fight prior — Iruka tries to make excuses. Tries to tell himself Kakashi is the best jounin in Konoha, that he’s the next in line for the Hokage’s seat. That he’s going to wake up and be just fine.

But Kakashi keeps falling and the rest of Iruka — the part he had tried hard to erase and hide deep within himself, the part that had fallen in love with Kakashi’s quiet footsteps and quiet gazes in a house that had somehow become a home — opens his mouth and calls out Kakashi’s name and shakes like the earth under their feet, and the rest of him too, all the vulnerable parts.

Kakashi lands with a harsh splash Iruka doesn’t see, but hears over the crackle of lightning and sizzle of fire.

And as ice forms in his veins and salt prickles at the corners of his widened gaze, in a wild, horrified panic, all Iruka can think is _Kakashi has to be okay, he must be okay._

(Because if he isn’t, Iruka doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to live with himself.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Incredible_ art by [Dri](http://drisrt.tumblr.com/). So blessed to have such an incredible artist working with us on illustrating parts of this fic! 
> 
> We hope you liked the hardcore shounen rescue!!! Definitely take a listen to the song recommendations above, as it goes pretty well with this chapter! 
> 
> For those of you wondering about what's going on with the epic dragon scene -- Kakashi activated Suiton Suiryuudan no Jutsu, then unleashed Shiden Kirin (which he first uses "canonically" in his light novel.) You can also get a better visual of it [here](https://youtu.be/Gd3Iueg1aFw?t=56), as he's seen using it in the _Naruto Ninja Storm 4 - Road to Boruto_ video game! 
> 
> P.S. Please help us get more visibility by [reblogging this Tumblr post!](http://subtextually.tumblr.com/post/175898605328/title-honest-when-it-rains-chapter-16-artist) Would love for more people to see this incredible piece of art, too! 
> 
> \---
> 
> Thanks for reading! We hope you enjoyed this chapter! We will be updating at least once a week, so be sure to **subscribe** if you'd like to keep up with our new chapter releases. 
> 
> You can follow us on Tumblr at **[subtextually](http://subtextually.tumblr.com)** and **[pinkcatharsis](http://pinkcatharsis.tumblr.com)**! 
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please give us some kudos or a comment and let us know what you think! We'd love to hear from you.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Soundtrack_** \- [Ursine Vulpine ft. Annaca - Wicked Game](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PoIisbJ7HI)

For a long time, there is only darkness.

A vast nothing that stretches its arms wider than the sky above to swallow him whole.

It’s peaceful here, and quiet.

Kakashi floats through the great sea of nothing, buoyant and warm.

He’s been so tired, and this is as nice a place to rest as any. A place of no thoughts, no hopes, no dreams — just silence.

The sea seems endless but calm — an ocean without waves, and above, the sky has no stars, no moon to light his way.

He’s not sure if there even is a sky.

Maybe there isn’t.

Where he’s going, there doesn’t need to be. So he rests, closes his eyes. Lets the current take him wherever it wants him to go.

For a little while, it grows darker, and suddenly, he’s not floating at all, but sinking. Deeper than he’s ever sunk before, to somewhere unfathomable and strange and cold, and Kakashi isn’t sure if he wants to be there anymore. There are hands all around him, tugging, pulling, stripping off the layers of him, piece by piece, layer by layer, until all he has left are his bones, wrapped around a grotesquely scarred organ pumping slowly.

It feels strange, to not have any skin or muscle, to be reduced down to nothing but a beating heart — but somehow, Kakashi isn’t scared at all.

_Kakashi, it’s time to wake up._

A flicker of light —

A tiny pinprick in the dark, piercing through the starless sky.

He can barely make it out, but suddenly, there it is — clear as day. Brighter than anything he’s ever seen in his life. So beautiful, it could have taken his breath away, if he had any lungs left to breathe. It somehow feels familiar, like something he knows quite well. Something he wants to reach out to, hold in hands. Something that makes him feel warm. Just looking at it makes him somehow feel whole, and when he looks down at the bones of his hands, he sees skin.

Obito floats by with a scowl on his face. “Don’t you dare quit on me, Kakashi! You made a promise!” And suddenly, Kakashi’s thirteen again, and there are warm hands wrapped around his own, pulling, drawing him up, and when he looks up, Obito and Rin smile back down on him.

“I told you a million times before.” Obito sounds exasperated, like he can’t believe he has to say this again. “It’s not your time yet, Kakashi.”

Before Kakashi even knows what’s happening, he’s flying through space and time and all the distance in between, faster than he’s ever flown before. Flying towards that light, which grows brighter and brighter, as he draws himself closer and closer, and finally breaks through —

Kakashi opens his eyes, and realizes he’s underwater and his lungs are burning and his vision is strobing in and out. He chokes, gagging as he fights to not open his mouth to suck in a lungful of water, and claws his way towards the surface, kicking with the last of the energy he has left. He breaks through with a shuddering, painful gasp and clings to the surface of the river, as he yanks his mask down and vomits out all the water he’d inhaled, then finally draws in desperate, heaving, painful breaths that feel like nails dragging inside his chest.

Kakashi feels _shattered._ Every part of him aches, even his toes.

For a moment, he just lies there, cheek pressed to the watery surface, trying to catch his breath, the rest of him still hanging halfway into the river. And then, after some effort, he manages to pull himself out, rolling onto his back as he stares up at the sky.

Yeah, he might have overdone it a bit, he thinks, as he turns his head and looks up at the plume of white smoke rising above the cliff where the tower once stood. He’d fallen into the river a bit upstream and the current had carried him south, but even from his vantage point, he can make out just how devastating the blast had been.

Hopefully, Iruka and Bull managed to escape it without harm — Kakashi had completely underestimated just how powerful this new technique would be. He also hadn’t expected that performing it would sap so much chakra, or knock him out.

Had the river not softened the impact of his fall, he’s not sure if he’d still be breathing.

The sound of rushed paws cuts through the falling silence and the frigid winter breeze. From the river bank and several feet away, Iruka spots a flash of silver, everything in him freezes up. Bull runs faster, jumping over rock and wet uprooted grass, skidding to a halt by the bank where Kakashi lies face up, staring at the quiet sky.

 _“Kakashi!_ ” Iruka calls out, not even recognizing the sound of his own voice, eyes wide as he grits his teeth as he adjusts himself on Bull’s back, water splashing as Bull rushes to his master, lowering himself on the water’s surface. Iruka takes in Kakashi’s exhausted gaze as it washes over him, and then Kakashi actually _smiles,_ and Iruka remembers how to breathe. His breath rushes back, faster and faster, until his chest heaves and he’s trying to swallow down something a little too large for him to handle. A ragged, small noise leaves his lips, and Iruka’s hand flies up to his mouth to silence anything further as he stares down at the man who had come all this way just to bring him back home.

Kakashi is alive.

“Sorry, I don’t think I can move for a bit,” Kakashi says. In fact, he’s fairly certain that he’s probably going to need a soldier pill or three to be able to move at all, but all of his supplies are either wet or have been completely destroyed by fire or lightning, except for what Iruka has on him. He’s exhausted in a way he hasn’t felt since the war, but he supposes that’s better than the alternative of not being able to feel anything at all.

The pitter-patter of small paws are the only warning they get before the rest of the pack happens upon them.

“Oi, Kakashi!” Pakkun calls as he trots over, and then somehow decides that trampling all over his beat up summoner and marching right onto his chest is the best idea he could possibly have. “Didja overdo it again, huh?”

Kakashi just groans and Pakkun marches right up to his face and decides to plant a paw right on his cheek. “What’d I tell ya about overdoin’’ it, huh? This happens _every time!”_ Pakkun gruffly scolds, and then looks over to Iruka, with the greatest look of consternation a dog could ever possibly have. “If yer gonna be his mate, you better make sure he doesn’t do dumb things like this every time he fights a big battle!”  Pakkun punctuates what he means by “dumb things” with a pat of his paw on Kakashi’s face for emphasis.

Iruka swallows past the thickness in his throat, and shakes his head at Kakashi, over and over again, before he glares through the relief. “Was that really necessary?” he asks, as his hands hover over the utility pack strapped to his waist and he starts examining the contents. He finds what he is looking for and shakes out two soldier pills onto a trembling palm. “Your life — you’re _important!”_ Iruka declares. “How could you — how could you care so little for yourself!”

For a long moment, Kakashi just looks at him, his expression achingly tender. It’s a look that doesn’t belong at all on this cold river. It makes the cold in Iruka’s bones momentarily dissipate, and the ache in his lungs, and pain that returns with a vengeance as the last bit of adrenaline fades away, doesn’t seem to matter — not when Kakashi is looking at him like that.

And then, Kakashi says softly, “I had to make sure he’d never be able to hurt you again,” and Iruka just looks at him like he's seeing him for the first time again. Iruka's hand stretches out, fingers trembling as he shakes his head and blinks the moisture out of his eyes. His brows furrow, and he offers Kakashi two pills caught between his fingers.

_(How do you stop loving someone when they're willing to start a war for you?)_

With significant effort, Kakashi manages to reach up and take the soldier pills from Iruka, his fingers quaking. The tremble rocks all the way down the length of his arm and into the rest of his body, seismic rumbles traveling deep into the very core of him. Kakashi shivers violently, the frigid water and freezing temperatures finally catching up with him, as adrenaline slowly fades. He somehow manages to get the pills to his mouth, instead of dropping them into the river, and chews past their bitterness before swallowing them down — and within seconds, a burst of adrenaline and chakra rushes through his veins; the crushing pain that had been in just about every part of his body fades into a dull ache, and Kakashi finds himself able to take the hand Iruka offers him to help him up.

He manages to slowly get back on his feet, and then, with some help from his ninken, somehow gets himself onto Bull’s back behind Iruka, just as the first snowflakes begin to fall from the sky.

Kakashi sighs as he leans against Iruka’s back, too exhausted to care about personal boundaries. With how cold it is, and how wet they both are, if they stay out here like this, exposed, it’ll only be a matter of time before hypothermia sets in. “We need to find shelter,” he says, and then glances up at Pakkun, who’d hopped up to perch on Bull’s head. “Can you have the pack scout ahead?”  

Iruka reaches out behind him, finding Kakashi’s limp hands and feeling ice under his fingers. Being locked up and not seeing the sun for days has made the concept of warmth almost foreign. He clutches at Kakashi’s hands, squeezing them tight and trying to push warmth into them, then tugs the gloves off, tucking them into Kakashi’s flak jacket pockets and gives those fingers another squeeze.

They need a fire. Kakashi needs to dry or else he would have come all this way for nothing.

“You’re so cold…” Iruka murmurs, worry and something like dread creeping into his tone, breathing slowing down as goosebumps break out all over his bare arms the length of his battered back. “Bull, Pakkun, please _hurry.”_

Bull shifts to stand on his legs, and Iruka lets go of one of Kakashi’s hands to hold onto the summon’s collar as Pakkun gives orders to the rest of the pack.

“I've survived worse,” Kakashi says from behind Iruka as he slides his arms around Iruka’s waist and shudders as wind scrapes across them.

Winter has never felt more brutal, or more cold.

It's a biting chill that reaches down into the bones, invading every part of him. Kakashi can't seem to stop shaking as he bends his face forward and presses his forehead against Iruka’s back, eyes closing. Iruka smells of blood and smoke, and all Kakashi can think is that this is all wrong.

Iruka should smell like oranges and cinnamon and sunlit skin, like summer days and something gentle and pure. Something that makes Kakashi feel warm every time he breathes it in.

But all he can smell now is the snow in the air, and the biting, metallic copper of drying blood and charred skin and hair. Iruka smells like war, and Kakashi wishes he didn't.

“I'm sorry,” Kakashi whispers, somewhere between Iruka's shoulder blades as his dogs bark in the distance. “This is all my fault.”

The words are so soft that Iruka isn’t even sure if he’d heard it all.

“I never blamed you,” Iruka says, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “Not once.”

Not even when it hurt the most, Iruka doesn’t say, fingers tightening around Kakashi’s. Whatever had happened in that stronghold, Iruka knows he’ll never utter a word of it. He’ll take it all with him to the grave, will never say how he had willingly taken a blade to his own neck, or how he’d admitted to things he would have never said aloud otherwise. He will carry the scars, and when they make it back, he’ll tuck it all under his uniform, away from prying eyes and Kakashi’s knowledge.

Kakashi doesn’t need to know, Iruka thinks.

But, he had already seen the damage.

It's a vision Kakashi doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. And he knows, in the deepest part of him, that even if Iruka doesn't blame him for it, and never did, he is still responsible for all the suffering Iruka had to endure. He sighs, too tired to argue, and far too cold to properly form words. He can't even feel his fingers or his face, and doesn't know how his arms somehow remain wrapped around Iruka’s waist, when they feel like they're carved out of ice.

The chorus of baying dogs in the distance signals safety — the ninken must have found a suitable shelter from the impending storm.

Bull picks up his pace, galloping faster, hurtling towards the sound. They round a bend and the dogs come into view, just before the mouth of a large cave. Half of the pack scurries to and fro with large sticks and pieces of wood in their mouths, piling it all together.

Within seconds, Bull clears the distance between them and bounds into the darkened cave.

Though they are out of the elements, they're far from safe.

“Iruka,” Kakashi says, his voice shaking as he slowly sits back, his arms falling from Iruka’s waist. “The t-top ri-right pouch. The-there's a scroll.”

“We need to get you out of your uniform,” Iruka murmurs, swallowing past the shuddering and the chatter of his teeth and the gravel in his throat, as Bull lowers himself down onto the cave floor.

The cave should warm up quickly enough if they can get a fire going. Iruka casts a wary glance at the wood being piled. He adjusts himself on Bull’s back, turning with wince, and channels enough chakra, seals forming to light a large enough flame that throws the dark cave alight. The crackling of the firewood burning should have been a comfort. Iruka reminds himself that Yaite lies obliterated in pieces somewhere behind them, that they are safe.

Iruka’s trembling fingers quickly work on the clasps of the vest to pull out the scroll. “May I?” Kakashi just nods, too cold to respond.

Despite barely being able to feel his hands or arms, somehow, Kakashi manages to shift Iruka against him as he draws the chuunin to his chest, and then quickly slides one arm around his torso, and the other under Iruka’s knees. Each shuddering step he takes towards the fire feels like an earthquake, and Kakashi doesn’t know how he manages to hold onto Iruka when he feels like he’s shaking apart.  

With great difficulty, he manages to drop down to one knee heavily before the fire, and gingerly rests Iruka down, trembling so badly that he’s fairly certain he’s lost the ability to form words.

Iruka feels his arm shake as he tries to keep himself upright, grinding his teeth together so hard, his jaw aches as he forces the pain to subside. It takes a few deep wheezing, wet lungfuls of breaths, before Iruka shakes his head at the searing pain shooting up from his legs all the way up to his spine, making him see stars behind tightly squeezed eyelids.

Another deep breath and he looks at Kakashi, then releases the hold he had on his arm. “S-Strip. N-Now.”

Numb, barely functional fingers attempt to wrap around the hem of his shirt, but Kakashi’s so cold that all he can manage to do is pull the edge of the shirt up a few inches, before it slips out of his grasp. Iruka’s fingers soon join his own, pushing Kakashi’s fingers away to tug the rest of the shirt off, along with the protective mesh layer underneath. He casts both aside and reaches forward, undoing the belt that usually wouldn’t have been so difficult to undo, if his fingers were steady. The hitai-ate goes next, tossed aside to the pile of clothes without care. Iruka’s hands slide down Kakashi’s waist, undoing his pants and pushing everything down.

As Kakashi manages to rip through the bindings of his legs and kicks off his sandals, divesting himself of waterlogged fabric that had slowly started to freeze, Iruka busies himself with the scroll, unfurling it over his lap.

Unsealing the scroll takes a second and from its seal appears a survival cache, heavy with enough equipment and supplies to live off of for several days if needed. Iruka breathes deep, as he pushes the pack off his lap with a grunt, blinking the moisture away from his eyes and giving his head another shake to clear the black spots threatening to consume his vision.

He takes out the bedroll and unrolls it in one sharp gesture, unzipping one end all the way down for Kakashi to slide in and be next to the warmth of the fire. The medical kit is tossed next to it, along with bottles of water.

Kakashi’s vest joins the pile of wet clothing on the ground and Iruka begins to work himself out of the loose pants he’s wearing as he turns to Kakashi and says, “Get in.”

Kakashi complies, crawling over to the bedroll and sliding in as far as he can. The heat of the fire is unbearably painful as it licks up against his side and radiates over freezing skin, and his trembles grow violent as he fights against the urge to run away from the feeling of his blood boiling inside of him. Kakashi’s breath comes out in painful, shuddering gasps and he squeezes his eyes tight against the sensation, a hand grasping as it wrenches the fabric underneath him for something to hold onto. It’s agonizing, listening to him like this, but Iruka steels himself as he fights against the nausea induced by pain and pulls the last of his wet, bloodied clothing off.

It’s through a haze of knife-sharp pain and gritted teeth that Iruka manages to get under the bedroll next to Kakashi, and tears the makeshift dressings off his legs as he lies back and turns to watch the shadows and firelight flicker over Kakashi’s face. The sounds around him fade to a distant hum, the movement of the pack fading into the background, as he just stares at Kakashi’s face, at the violent tremble of his lips, and he wonders numbly if he will even see tomorrow and survive the journey home.

The ninken, who had been busy collecting an impressive pile of wood to last them through the night, and adding more fuel to the fire, finally slow down. Bull nudges Kakashi’s head with his nose gently, concerned, and Pakkun trots over and looks down at him, sighing. “What a sorry mess you’ve gotten yerself into again,” the pug says.

Kakashi is only barely cognizant of how Pakkun and the rest of his ninken nudge at his side, rolling him towards Iruka, who feels impossibly warm. He goes with the motion, finding his face buried in the hot curve of Iruka’s neck, and presses himself against the warmth of Iruka’s side, arm sliding across his waist.

Iruka murmurs Kakashi’s name, eyes closing as he shudders under the blanket, arm draping over Kakashi’s as he tugs him closer, and hopes, with everything in him, that he makes it through the night. Kakashi is so _cold,_ and if it weren’t for his pack, crawling onto them to cover them both as best as they can, Iruka’s certain that they both probably would have frozen to death.

“I know it hurts,” Iruka murmurs, voice sound distant and not like his own at all. “But just be stronger for a little longer, just enough to get back... I don’t think I could bear it if...” Iruka closes his eyes completely, feeling his teeth chatter, huddling a little closer and letting the words taper off. If he can just continue to breathe in and out, if his body can just not give into the cold yet, at least long enough for Kakashi to warm up and survive _this,_ Iruka thinks it can all be worth it, as long as Kakashi gets to go home.

Outside, snow falls and the wind blows through the treetops. It sounds mournful — like the sky crying for the loss of a lover, for the warm embrace of summer, which feels impossibly far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this week, but quite a bit happened! We hope you enjoyed it. (We structure chapters based on content instead of word count.) 
> 
> \---
> 
> Thanks for reading! We hope you enjoyed this chapter! We will be updating at least once a week, so be sure to **subscribe** if you'd like to keep up with our new chapter releases. 
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> If you liked this chapter, please give us some kudos or a comment and let us know what you think! We'd love to hear from you.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Soundtrack:** [Susie Suh feat. Robot Koch - Here With Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q01nfHkW4wY) | [One Republic - Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxW0cPo7F_o)

It’s easy to forget that the cold can kill you, when you’ve survived the end of the world.

Such an innocuous thing, the cold. Easy to ignore, when you hide yourself away under layers, and look out at it from behind panes of glass with a hot cup of tea warming your palms. You remember watching him the morning of the first frost of the season through that window — he’d stepped out in the garden, wrapped in a blanket, a wistful smile on his face, breathing in the crisp, clean scent of winter. When the sun hit his hair, which fell softly around his face, it lit him up with a golden halo. Maybe that was when you first fell in love with him, when he was standing in the cold breathing it in, reveling in the warmth of the early winter sun on his face, welcoming dawn with a glowing smile.

Or maybe it was earlier — when the leaves were just turning, a sea of gold and red, and everywhere he went, Iruka seemed to marvel at it. “Look, Kakashi-san!” he exclaimed, his hand in yours, dragging you towards the garden, gesturing at the sycamore tree just beyond, its leaves pure gold, waving softly in the autumn breeze. “Our tree turned gold!”

There was something breathless about the way he said it, like it was the first time he’d ever seen a tree like that, when you’ve both lived in a village hidden in the leaves all your lives — but that was just the thing about him. He could always find something beautiful and newly discovered in all the things you took for granted, like leaves on a tree in autumn.

(You stopped paying attention to that sort of thing a long, long time ago.)

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” he asked, and the smile on his face was so bright, it made something inside of you ache, and you burned with a secret you weren’t supposed to have.

Your eyes drank up the sight of him in the afternoon light. “Yes,” you told him, but it wasn’t the tree you were talking about.

(You’re quite certain there isn’t anything more beautiful in the world than Umino Iruka’s smile.)

You would have done anything to keep that smile safe.

And when you were staring into the mouth of hell, and saw your past burning before you, you weren’t thinking about how far the fall would be, or how the cold could kill you, if you weren’t careful. There was no being careful, when the only thing that could ensure that hell would never come back to haunt you and burn the smile off Iruka’s face, was to be reckless to the point of madness.

You split the sky in half and brought down the heavens, and all you could see, as lightning surged around you, was the shape of his smile.

 

  
*

 

Dawn rises hushed, the grey light of morning muted by the thick fog rolling out across the land.

Kakashi stirs slowly, the warmth surrounding him threatening to pull him right back over the edge. He could probably lie here forever, warm and content, listening to the crackle of fire and the soft susurrations of his pack as they slept. He probably could have gone right back to sleep, if not for the fact that his nose bumps against something solid and warm, and when he cracks open an eye, he finds himself staring at Iruka’s jaw.

Kakashi looks at him in bewilderment, until he suddenly remembers what had brought them here — and then discovers that there doesn’t appear to be a single part of him that doesn’t hurt. Even his _toes_ ache, which is something he didn’t think was even possible.

He groans softly as he shifts into a slightly better position, then considers his current situation.

He should probably slide out of the bedroll and hang up their clothes by the fire to dry, and maybe wrap himself up in the tarp packed in his survival pack instead of lying here, naked, shamelessly draped over Iruka.

But he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to wake up like this again, with Iruka lying by his side, warm and soft and still so beautiful, despite the terrible bruises that line his face.

He ends up tucking his face back into the curve of Iruka’s neck, and listens to Iruka’s breath as he sleeps, instead.

Eventually, Kakashi falls asleep again.  

 

*

 

Coming into the world with a deep, slow breath is almost painful — enough to make Iruka wince and turn his head away from what he thinks might be another onslaught of violence. But the breath that fills his lungs isn’t tinged with the sharp copper tang of blood, nor is it rancid from mildew and crawling mold over aged walls. The air is almost sweeter, crisper, with the mild scent of a fire long burnt out. And under the grime, the dried, caked blood on his skin, and the thickness of the cold cooking somewhere in his lungs, is the smell of the forest. Like an open field, Iruka thinks as he stares at the opening of the cave over the fur of Shiba's flank, at the clear blue sky and the line of snow-topped trees.

It comes slowly, what had happened the night before. Iruka remembers the rage in Kakashi's eyes, how it had made him look like a merciless god. How that look had made Iruka’s bones soften and tremble in its wake. The sky opened up to a crackle of endless purple, burning away to blinding white, scorching in its intensity, brighter than a dying star. And then — the fall.

Kakashi dropped from the sky and into the rushing waters below.

He recalls the wild race for shelter, the cold he had felt under his skin, the pain that had followed and the vicious chatter of Kakashi's teeth — helpless and so vulnerable, when just moments ago, he had been godlike.

Clarity returns as sharp and as bright as the glimmer of the snow coating the ground beyond the cave, and Iruka sucks in a sharp, sudden breath, as he drops his gaze down.

Kakashi isn't moving, and Iruka stiffens with panic, as adrenaline spikes through his blood. His hand presses against the arm lying across his stomach, feeling for Kakashi’s wrist and searching for a pulse, just as soft, warm breaths against his skin register.

Iruka lies there, staring at the rocky ceiling above, feeling the breath against his neck, the tickle of Kakashi's hair against his skin, and that's when it hits him when he sucks in a deep breath — the deep forest and open fields and _home_. It's enough to make Iruka closes his eyes again, enough for him to release a shuddering breath and his fingers to smooth over Kakashi's wrist in a loose hold, counting each beat of his heart.  

(Iruka would spend the rest of his life falling asleep and waking up to the feel of Kakashi's breath against his skin if he could.)  


*

 

Kakashi wakes to the feeling of warm fingers around his wrist.

There are fingers searching for and then pressing down lightly right on his pulsepoint — as though Iruka needed proof, beyond the warmth radiating along his side, that Kakashi was still alive. The realization that Iruka must have woken up fearing that Kakashi had somehow died during his sleep is sombering.

Kakashi makes a show of waking with a low grumble at the base of his throat, and then he slowly shifts, pulling his face out of the nest he’d made in the hollow of Iruka’s neck. He rolls away just enough to look at him, wrist sliding out of Iruka’s grasp in the process.

In the morning light, the bruises look even worse than they did the previous night. Iruka’s face is mottled with angry purple and black storm clouds that had gathered under his eyes and pressed into his skin. Kakashi suspects that Iruka’s orbital bone might even be slightly fractured, judging by the way his eye looks.

The sight of it makes Kakashi ache with guilt and regret, and he wishes that he could somehow take away the hurt. Wishes he could mend every wound that he might have inflicted himself. “Well,” he begins, as he schools his mouth into a faint, sardonic smile, “I guess we’re alive.”

"Yes," Iruka answers quietly and slowly. His breath stutters in his chest when he turns to look at Kakashi, throat going dry at the sight of him. That _smile._ Iruka doesn't know how long he stares at Kakashi's mouth, at the scar that cuts through his left upper lip. He blinks slowly and raises his gaze up to Kakashi's eyes, and opens his mouth to tell him how he’s glad that he’s alive, that he’s important, that Iruka had feared he’d never make it to sunrise. What comes out instead is a soft, "How are you feeling?"

“A little sore.” It's the understatement of the century. Kakashi feels _wrecked,_ though it's nowhere near what he had endured at the end of the war. Of the two of them, though, Iruka is far worse. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

"I'm alright," Iruka lies, as he carefully sits himself up, one hand shakily pressing over his knees, a tremble rolling down his spine and through the rest of his limbs. "I'll live, get to have more ramen, maybe. Seems like the perfect weather for it, ne?" The chuckle that comes out of him feels forced — a poor attempt at a joke, when every bit of him hurts.

Kakashi’s eyes scrape over Iruka slowly. There’s a battlefield spread across Iruka’s body —  shadowy imprints of knuckles sit just under his ribs, dried blood caking the edges of clotted lacerations. Dark clouds of pain, carved through with tendrils of red lightning caked in blood, are scattered all over Iruka’s back, and Kakashi’s eyes darken at the sight, as he slowly pushes himself up on an elbow, knocking a rather grumpy Pakkun and sleepy Uhei off him in the process.

“Let me take care of those wounds.” Kakashi ignores the flash of pain that travels through him in the process as he reaches past Iruka, fingers snagging on the edge of the pack, and tugs it over. Working quickly, Kakashi adds new kindling from a small pile nearby, and relights the fire, which had dwindled down to glowing embers. Wood crackles as it ignites, and soon the heat of the flames wash over them.

It doesn’t take long for Kakashi to rummage through the pack, handing a bottle of water to Iruka, as he drinks one down himself, and pulls out the medical kit. He gently coaxes Iruka up into a seated position, and begins to work on dressing the wounds.

In the harsh light of day, the injuries look far worse than they did when they were muted by the night. Kakashi’s eyes follow the ravines that carve through Iruka’s back.

From the look of it, Kakashi knows — Iruka had been strung up and whipped.

Kakashi closes his eyes and inhales a steadying breath, and then pulls on a pair of latex gloves from the medical kit, and begins to work on cleaning the wounds, before stitching them up with a length of thread and a curved needle.

The sounds of Iruka’s pained breaths filling up the space between them.

Kakashi tries his best to shut it out, as he focuses on the task in front of him.

“Just a little more,” he says softly, eyes trained on Iruka’s back, as he concentrates on stitching flesh together. Through it all, Iruka keeps his head bowed, staring at how white his knuckles are from the sting and bite. He doesn’t dare move or look up from where his eyes are fixed on his knuckles.  

"I'm sorry for the trouble. You're in no shape to be doing this..."

“What are you talking about, hmm?” Kakashi keeps his voice light as he finally finishes with the last laceration, and reaches for a dressing. “Of the two of us, I’m clearly in far better shape.” He carefully finishes dressing Iruka’s back, and then leans back to observe his handiwork, then glances down at Iruka’s legs, which are still covered by the bedroll. “We really should do something about those legs…”

Iruka sighs and clears his throat, and reaches for a few damp pieces of clothing for some modesty. “I doubt there’s anything in there that can fix this. Unless you’ve recently done intensive and advanced medical training.”

Kakashi’s breath catches in his throat when Iruka pulls the covers back.

Below the knees, Iruka’s legs are terribly swollen and bruised. Kakashi’s eyes follow the shadows in his skin, reads in them the pattern of blows, the horror that had been wrought. Someone had taken something heavy and blunt to Iruka’s legs, until the bone shattered, flesh bruising from the impact.

Iruka’s lucky that the bone didn’t break skin.

Kakashi’s brows draw together in a frown as he pulls out a roll of bandages.  “At the very least, we should splint your legs again.”

“Maa, this is what I get for not escaping fast enough, I suppose,” Iruka says. “The training on torture and interrogation did say try to get away fast and not get caught. Next time, I’ll just have to do better.”

The words arrest Kakashi’s fingers in the middle of unrolling the bandages, tension coiling in his shoulders and trembling down his arms.

“There won’t ever be a next time.”  The way Kakashi says it is absolute, and the look in his eyes is like the edge of a ready blade. He keeps his eyes carefully trained on the fractures below Iruka’s knees, and starts to bind Iruka’s legs.

You did this, he reminds himself, as he carefully wraps the roll of gauze around the circumference of Iruka’s shin. _You did this to him, you sorry piece of shit._

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi says after a long moment of silence after he finishes splinting Iruka’s legs and bandages them. “I should have never told you to leave.”

“It’s not your fault.” Iruka’s trembling hand slips into Kakashi’s. “I’ll be alright. You’ll see.”  And though his skin is covered with a sheen of cold sweat from pain, and his face is swollen and bruised, Iruka’s smile is bright and still beautiful, even if it’s a little shaky around the edges, and makes Kakashi ache with something far too raw. He knows too well that while Iruka’s wounds might heal and his bones will mend, some scars carve themselves too deep. Some wounds never heal — not completely. Not when there’s a part of you that’s missing. And though Kakashi might be able to stitch up Iruka’s wounds, he’ll never be able to undo the hurt inflicted upon him, or stop the horror of what Iruka had endured from chasing him through the dark in his sleep.

Kakashi swallows hard past the constriction in his throat, as his thumb slowly, tenderly moves across Iruka’s knuckles, which are bruised and soiled with blood and dirt.  

“How long was I gone?” Iruka asks apprehensively.

“About two days.” Kakashi pauses as his eyes flick up to Iruka’s. “The Academy reported you missing when you didn’t show for work.”

“Ah,” Iruka chuckles wryly, a slight tremble going through his fingers. “They would do that. I suppose that happens when you’re never absent. The moment you are, they notice. I’m looking forward to getting back.” Iruka pauses as he looks at Kakashi, and then he tells him, “I have you to thank for that.”

But all Kakashi can think is that he has nothing to thank him for at all.

None of this would have happened, if he never told Iruka to pack up his things and go.

 

*

 

 

The journey back to Konoha is long and arduous.

Just hold on a little longer, Kakashi tells Iruka when he feels him trembling in his arms in pain, Iruka’s knuckles bone white where they clutch Bull’s collar like a lifeline.

Iruka doesn’t really respond — the pain’s taken away his voice, and it’s all he can do to just breathe through it. The warmth of Kakashi’s arms, and the solid press of his chest along his burning back is but a small solace.

(Iruka thinks he feels Kakashi’s chin grazing over his shoulder, and if he closes his eyes maybe he can imagine him resting it there.)

Eventually, they make it through the gates, and the commotion around them is rather severe —  they’re whisked off quickly to the hospital, and Sakura comes storming into the emergency room where they’re being triaged.

“Kakashi-sensei,” she scolds, green eyes glinting with equal parts anger and concern, “what were you thinking, going off alone like that?”

I wasn’t, Kakashi doesn’t say, as Sakura glares at him where he lies in the hospital bed. He ends up only giving her a hum that can mean anything at all, and she sighs, then has him sit up to properly assess his back. The warmth of her chakra passes over him a moment later.  

“Your kidneys are badly bruised,” Sakura tells him, voice pinched. “What happened?”

“I fell,” he says, and Sakura rolls her eyes.

He doesn’t need her to tell him that he could have died.

(Dying is easy, after all. It’s living that’s hard.)  


 

*

 

It turns out that Iruka needs surgery for his legs.

Iruka-sensei probably won’t be able to walk for a while, Sakura tells Kakashi. But he knows, just by looking at her, that what she really means is that she doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to walk again.

(Regret is an ache that carves out all the soft parts of him until all he can feel is its weight.)

 

*

 

“Have you heard any news yet?” Kakashi asks a passing nurse for what must be the twentieth time in three hours.

“Kakashi-san,” she says, as patiently as she can, “like I told you before, he’s still in surgery. That’s all I know.”

Kakashi has always considered himself a rather patient man, but as he lies in his hospital bed and stares at the clock, every minute feels like an eternity. He can’t even concentrate on reading, too concerned with the passing of time, and not knowing if the surgery will be successful. Not knowing if Iruka will be okay.

This must be what hell feels like, he thinks, as the second hand of the clock ticks forward slowly.

 

*

 

It’s hours later when Sakura finally comes into his room, looking as haggard as she feels. She sits down heavily in the chair next to his bed and then looks at Kakashi and tells him, quietly, that the surgery was mostly successful, but there was far more damage than they had initially thought.

“We don’t know if Iruka-sensei will ever be able to walk again,” she says, and Kakashi closes his eyes as he lets out a quiet breath, shoulders tense.

“Can I see him?” he asks her, and the question takes her by surprise, because it’s not like Kakashi-sensei to ask something like that. In all the years that he’s been in and out of the hospital, he’s never once asked to see someone from his hospital bed.

It’s not like him to be so concerned.

Sakura thought the other nurses were exaggerating when they said that Kakashi wouldn’t stop asking them about Iruka — if the surgery was over, if he would be okay, if they had any news. But she’s starting to wonder, as Kakashi looks at her expectantly, if maybe there was some truth to the gossip.

If maybe Kakashi-sensei really does care.

“Iruka-sensei is in recovery right now, but I can take you to see him,” Sakura tells him. “I’ll have one of the nurses bring over a wheelchair.”

“I can walk just fine,” he tells her, and the look she gives him must be terrifying enough because he laughs awkwardly and his eyes curve into crescents above his mask. “Okay, okay, I’ll wait for the wheelchair.”

Kakashi-sensei _does_ care, Sakura decides at that moment.

(She’s not sure what that means, because Kakashi-sensei and Iruka-sensei aren’t really married, right?)

 

*

 

“Kakashi-sensei, I have to warn you,” Sakura says, as she wheels Kakashi towards the recovery room. “We had to use external fixation devices to stabilize Iruka-sensei’s tibia bones, which were badly fractured. Luckily, the break didn’t quite pierce skin, but there was a lot of soft tissue damage…”

Kakashi had expected that much.

Given what Sakura had described, when she first walked into his hospital room, he had already imagined what they had done to try and save Iruka’s legs. It’s not unlike what Gai had to go through as well, and Kakashi remembers, far too well, how difficult that particular recovery had been. He’s not entirely sure why Sakura is telling him so much — normally, she wouldn’t share so much information about her patients.

But as she wheels him in through the doors of the recovery room, it hits him — he’s Iruka’s husband.

Of course, she would tell him everything there is to know about Iruka’s medical condition.

He thought he would be prepared with the forewarning about what to expect — but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Iruka lying in a hospital bed.

They had done their best to heal the bruises on his face and the fractured orbital bone, and had carefully bandaged around the metal stabilization devices protruding from Iruka’s legs, screwed into his shattered bones to keep them in place. Iruka’s legs are elevated in slings that hang from the ceiling, and there are bandages wrapped around his chest, that Kakashi can see from the opening of his yukata.

A machine beeps quietly beside him, counting each of his heartbeats as an IV pumps fluids into his body.

Kakashi lets out a shuddering breath he didn’t know he was holding as Sakura wheels him up to Iruka’s bedside. He barely hears her when she tells him that she’ll give them a little privacy, and doesn’t notice when she closes the curtain and walks away — his focus entirely held by Iruka, by the faint bruises still lingering on his face.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to tell Iruka that he might not ever be able to walk again.

 

  
*

 

Waking up, Iruka decides, hurts too much that he wishes he never woke up at all.  
  
There is a radiating pain that starts somewhere from the bottom of his shin going up like heat waves all the way to his back. Everything hurts. Iruka can feel the tenderness around his middle, the soreness lingering around his face and the fact that even something as simple as breathing is enough to make him wish he wasn’t breathing at all to begin with.  
  
The first thing he becomes aware of is he sound of the beeping machine, an insistent noise that makes him open his eyes and stare blearily at the flare of the dimmed light of his hospital room. It comes back to him like a distant memory, coming through Konoha’s gates, delirious and barely even coherent, hands picking him up and carrying him on a stretcher, the sight of tall, beautifully white topped cedar trees flooding him with relief — home, he remembers thinking. We made it home.

He finds himself staring at the window, at the soft glow of the moon beyond, and there, on the back of his hand is the cannula, also fucking sore, the skin already swollen and starting to bruise — the sight of it looks and feels like the rest of him.  
  
That’s when he sees it — his legs suspended and the metal stabilization devices protruding from the surface of his legs. Iruka isn’t sure why he suddenly feel dread and fear begin to climb from the tips of his toes all the way to his heart, wrapping around him like clawed, icy fingers, making his breath come out in short gasps. The beeping of the monitor starts to pick up, a loud, shrill echoing sound that makes him push his head back against the hospital pillow, scrunching his eyes shut and forcing himself to calm down. He made it home, he’s home, he’s far away from whatever hellhole he had been locked up in.  
  
Iruka gives a throaty groan, feels gravel in his throat and flinches when he realizes that there’s a presence beside him — sees, rather than feels what, for a moment, looks like a menacing shadow. It’s enough to make him push back a little, the heart rate monitor now a shrill noise in the background, his lungs heaving, heart thundering against his rib cage. It’s then that he feels the warmth in his hand — calloused fingers, gentle and steady, weaving through his fingers and holding him steady.  
  
It’s when he registers that he’s not looking at an unfamiliar face, that it isn’t a malicious presence — it’s Kakashi.

(He brought Iruka home; he fell from the sky.)

Iruka opens his mouth to say something. He ends up making a garbled noise instead, fingers tightening in a vice around Kakashi’s hold.

Kakashi’s eyes look sad and soft over the edge of the hospital mask as his gaze meets Iruka’s, and his fingers gently squeeze back, thumb slowly stroking over Iruka’s.

“Welcome back,” he says softly, and though it’s not visible, Iruka knows that the corners of his mouth are shifting up into the faintest of smiles. “You slept for so long, I was wondering if I was going to need to consider bribing the nurses to let me stay here overnight.”

Iruka shakes his head a little bit. It feels like forever, but Iruka feels his pulse calm down, his grip loosening around Kakashi’s hand the longer he looks at his face, sees the worry here, the sadness that has no place on his face, because they made it back didn’t they?  
  
Iruka clears his throat, not surprised at the soreness there at all. “Shouldn’t you be on bedrest?”

“Maa...I suppose I’m resting here,” Kakashi quips lightly, “by your bed.”

The corners of his eyes crease slightly as he smiles, and picks up a cup of water with a straw in it, which he offers to Iruka, who takes slow and careful sips, before he turns his head away and lets it fall heavily on the pillow.  
  
“How long was I out for?” Iruka sighs, glad his voice sounds clearer.

“About eight hours,” Kakashi says, his gaze dropping down to their hands for a moment, and there’s a tension there in his shoulders, in the slightest furrow between his brows that smooths out after a moment. He looks back up at Iruka then, meeting his gaze. “The surgery took longer than it should’ve.”

Iruka looks away then, staring at the protruding metal on his legs and feels his throat constrict. He can feel the dread, coiling and slowly pooling somewhere in the pit of his stomach as he tries to wrap his head around the gravity of his injuries, the sight of it. It didn’t really matter when they were trying to escape.  
  
“It’s not very good, is it?” he asks, soft and quiet, barely louder than the beep of the monitor.

“You’re going to have a long recovery,” Kakashi says, giving Iruka gentle squeeze of the hand, and then he lets out a slow breath. “It’s going to be a while before you’ll be able to walk again.”   

Iruka doesn’t realize that he’s holding his breath, turning to look at the frown that had stitched itself onto Kakashi’s face, as he studies their joined hands. The dread coils tighter. “How long?”

“At the minimum, four months,” Kakashi says, a little too quietly, as he looks up at Iruka. “Maybe longer, but that really depends on you.”

Iruka’s fingers go lax, as he turns his gaze away and stares at ceiling. It’s too long, he wants to say, _I want to go back to the Academy._ Instead, Iruka closes his eyes and exhales slowly, trying to keep his breathing steady and it cause another round of alarmed beeps.  
  
He doesn’t want the attention, doesn’t need the fuss. He just wants to be left alone to digest the weight of this news and its implications.

“I see...”

But Kakashi's presence next to him is warm, steadying. He doesn't draw his hand away, and doesn't say anything for a long moment, as Iruka tries to process the news. Iruka can feel his eyes on him, can sense the concern in them as visibly as he can sense the guilt. He knows Kakashi won't ever stop blaming himself for what happened, even though Iruka never blamed him at all.

Kakashi has always carried around a kind of weight, a darkness in him that dampened every smile, and muted happier, brighter moments.

Iruka knows that this will be another reason for Kakashi to not smile the way he did that night on the engawa, months ago.

“You have a few more surgeries that you'll need to endure this week.” Kakashi's voice breaks through the silence, and Iruka can hear the way he measures each syllable. “But, if it all goes well, you'll be able to come home next week.”

Home, Kakashi says. The house that Iruka isn’t entitled to. Iruka pulls his hand away then and swallows.  
  
“I can stay here.”  Iruka gestures at the hospital bed. “It’s not bad.”

The breath that leaves Kakashi is soft, broken. Silence falls between them, settling heavily.

“I never should have asked you to leave,” Kakashi says, and the regret in his voice is palpable, a heavy, sinking weight in Iruka’s chest. “I was—” he pauses, swallowing heavily. “I was a fool. I didn’t have any right to be angry, and I treated you badly.”

Iruka eyes snap on to Kakashi’s face then, staring at the guilt tugging his features down. It’s an ugly look on someone who is so beautiful when he smiles. And though Iruka knows that a part of Kakashi will never stop seeing this as his mistake, Iruka knows that he isn’t exactly innocent of it all either. The fact stands that he should have never brought anyone home, regardless if they were married or not. If he loved Kakashi or not. If he wanted to forget him or not. Even if he had been so drunk — Iruka should have known better.  
  
Prolonging his stay in Kakashi’s home, being around him, will only serve as a reminder of what got them into this mess in the first place and everything he possibly can’t ever have. Iruka doesn’t want it. Not like this anyway. It’s better to go their separate ways now. He’s not even sure how far he’ll get given his current disability.

But, the years have taught him to be resilient.

I’ll be okay, he tells himself.

Because he must.  
  
“You weren’t wrong either,” Iruka says, voice soft and thick, without malice and full of defeat. “What I did was wrong. I should have known better — behaved better — than to betray your trust that way. You’re not obligated to take care of me. You’ve brought me home and that’s more than enough.”  
  
(He doesn’t mention the hurt, how it had felt like to be shunned by someone who you thought maybe, just maybe, might have felt the same way too. _We’re not really married, we’re not even in love._ There’s no need for it.)

Iruka thought Kakashi would accept it. Surely he should have understood that it would be better for them to not continue to live together, and should have been relieved that he didn’t have to be obligated to care for Iruka.

But instead, Kakashi’s expression softens as his eyes rise, and the way he looks at Iruka feels like all the soft moments that they’ve shared together. Like the feeling of Kakashi’s fingers stroking gently through his hair, when he accidentally fell asleep on Kakashi’s shoulder. Like tenderness, and something else — something Iruka’s terrified to name, because it can’t possibly be real.

It must be a trick of the painkillers they have him on, an aftereffect of the anesthesia.

(Because the look in Kakashi’s eyes feels like love and Iruka knows that can’t be right.)

“I don’t feel obligated to take care of you,” Kakashi says softly, and to Iruka’s surprise, he reaches out for his hand again, thumb stroking over his knuckles tenderly. “I want to.” Iruka’s eyes widen at the familiar words, and then Kakashi says, “Come home.”  

I can’t, Iruka wants to say. But the words get lodged in his throat at the tenderness before him, the warmth of Kakashi’s hand, and that horrible feeling of fulfilment, from Kakashi asking him to come home.  
  
(He always felt the strongest and also the weakest around Kakashi — being in love makes people do stupid things.)  
  
Iruka’s resolve crumbles like fine dust and though he doesn’t verbally say it, doesn’t give voice to the insecurity and fear of being shunned again, or worse, being blamed for things he’s not even aware of — the emotional cruelty of it — Iruka nods anyway.  
  
Just for a little while longer, he’ll do this for Kakashi. Just until he stops blaming himself.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than usual, but made it just at the end of the day. ^^; A lot of fast exposition in this chapter. 
> 
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	19. Chapter 19

Over the course of the next week, Kakashi spends most of his time with Iruka.

They share a hospital room for the first few days of the week, and Kakashi comes to visit him in recovery after every painful surgical procedure and healing session. Iruka always wakes up to Kakashi by his side, and when the pain is too much, Kakashi’s hand is in his — warm, reassuring. 

Even after Kakashi is discharged from the hospital, he regularly comes to visit. He brings Iruka fresh oranges and his favorite tea, his favorite yukata, and a stack of books for him to read —  _ Icha Icha _ is noticeably missing from the pile. Most of the books are more in line with what sits on Iruka’s shelves — adventures, autobiographies, and classic romance. Iruka’s surprise that Kakashi had paid attention is a soft, fluttery thing in the pit of his stomach. 

(He tells himself to not think more of it; Kakashi is just being nice and considerate.)

When Iruka’s medical team tells them that Iruka needs a little more treatment and that his stay will be extended, Kakashi brings him softer pillows and a warmer blanket. He also brings him a brush, and helps him work out the terrible tangles that had formed in his hair. Iruka can’t remember the last time anyone’s ever helped him brushed his hair. Not since his parents. He had gone very still under Kakashi’s hands, trying not to be affected by intimacy of it, making excuse after excuse — Kakashi cares. He’s not a terrible man. That’s all. 

Naruto and Sakura and all of Iruka’s other students become regular visitors as well — filling Iruka’s room with bright flowers until it’s bursting with color and fragrance. The bouquet of purple hyacinths Kakashi had brought him sit in a vase on Iruka’s bedside table, next to a framed photo of Iruka and his parents Kakashi had been kind enough to bring in. Get well cards and crude drawings soon fill up the walls, and every day, Iruka entertains a steady stream of visitors who bring more presents and well wishes. 

It’s as though the entire village has come to see him, and then, Iruka remembers that he’s taught quite a fair deal of children — many of whom are now young adults. 

It’s a nice way to pass time that feels too long on most days. His youngest class is what moves him the most. Ebisu brings all fifteen of them, and they surround his bed, too terrified to touch him, looking at him with eyes that wonder if he’s dying, if he’s ever going to be okay —  _ you’ll come back to us, right, Iruka-sensei? _

It’s after that particular visit that Iruka feels the first telltale signs of tears gathering around the corners of his eyes, long after the kids had left, and he’s left by himself, staring out at the afternoon sun. Kakashi had come in then, a cup of his favorite tea in his hand, and Iruka had blinked the tears away and cleared his throat, smiling at him and thanking him for the tea. 

Days later, after another grueling session of surgery that leaves him so fucking tired and nearing the end of his wits, in a moment of weakness, as he accepts his afternoon tea from Kakashi like clockwork, he softly says, “I miss the Academy…” 

Kakashi’s hand in his own is reassuring and warm, and he says, “Don’t worry, Sensei. You’ll be back soon.” 

Iruka doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he doesn’t really believe him.

There are days — difficult days, the absolute worst — when Iruka feels his patience wear thin and Kakashi’s presence begins to get a little overbearing. On those days, Iruka remains quiet, opting to keep his mouth sealed tight in fear of saying something he’ll regret — or worse, exacerbate Kakashi’s guilt. 

Kakashi always seems to notice the shift in the air, and makes an excuse that he has somewhere he has to be, before disappearing. It never ceases to catch Iruka off guard, how Kakashi is so observant, so aware of his needs, always there when he needs him the most, and gone when he needs the space. It doesn’t stop Iruka from falling even more in love with him, much to his panicked dismay. It’s cruel to be exposed to someone so perfect and know that it can just never be.

“Who got you those?” Kotetsu asks one evening, tipping his chin at the vase of hyacinths by his bedside.

“Kakashi.” Iruka blinks, as he stares at Kotetsu’s bewildered face, how he exchanges glances with Izumo. “Why?”

“What are you mad at him for, that he’s asking for forgiveness?” Izumo asks.

Iruka looks at the vase like he’s seeing it for the first time. They don’t dry out because Kakashi replaces them before they can wilt completely. He doesn’t answer the pair and they know better than to prod.

That night, when Kakashi tucks him into bed, fusses and makes sure he’s okay before he turns off the light to let him sleep, Iruka tells himself it’s okay. Just until he can be a little mobile, he can tolerate this a little more.

Just a little longer.

(I’ll be okay, he tells himself.)

 

*

 

Kakashi sends for Tenzou the day that he’s discharged from the hospital. 

It’s a special request that he puts in through the Hokage office when he walks in to be officially relieved of active field duty — a request Tsunade ends up approving, after thoroughly dressing Kakashi down for being so reckless, if only because Kakashi insisted that, as Iruka’s husband, he intends to also serve as his caregiver, to help him through his rehabilitation. He is also going to need to make their home far more accessible, and the only person who can quickly and efficiently remodel an entire house in less than a week is Tenzou.

There isn’t much information in the missive that is sent, a few days later.

All it says is that Tenzou’s presence has been requested, immediately, in the village by the Hokage, and he is to report to Hatake Kakashi. The summon was marked as high priority, so Kakashi isn’t surprised to see the concern pressed into the lines of Tenzou’s face, when he opens the front door to the sound of quiet knocks. 

“Senpai.” Tenzou nods in greeting, stepping in when Kakashi lets him in. “I heard what happened.” It goes unsaid, the question of his well being. Kakashi isn’t blind to how Tenzou studies him closely, the way his gaze flows over the lines of his body, quickly diagnosing and assessing him, as though he were the one in the hospital, not Iruka.

“I’m fine,” he reassures Tenzou, as he shuts the door. “It was just a few bruises,” he adds, knowing that Tenzou isn’t going to accept it as easily without a little more elaboration as to why he had been injured badly enough to be hospitalized for three days.

Tenzou doesn’t react, keeping silent. It’s about as loud as someone shouting a  _ yeah, right _ at Kakashi’s face. “So it’s true?” Tenzou asks, hands sliding into his pockets. It’s a measured gesture. “The rumors.”

“What rumors?” 

“You’re retiring as jounin to focus on being the next Hokage,” Tenzou says, and chuckles. “Really?”

“Ah, that rumor,” Kakashi quips as they head down the hallway towards the kitchen. He’s not surprised that word has somehow gotten around, even in the span of a few short days since he first requested Tenzou’s presence back in Konoha. The shinobi working the mission room must have noticed and started to talk. It’s no secret that he’s been taken off all mission rosters, and all of his assignments were abruptly canceled, including an S-rank he was supposed to take next week. “I wasn’t aware that you paid attention to village gossip.” 

“It’s entertaining, sometimes. Especially one that surrounds you.” Tenzou shrugs. “How’s Iruka-sensei doing, by the way? I heard you brought him home. That you went against orders, too.”

Tenzou’s gaze is sharp, the kind he uses when he tries to gauge Kakashi’s reaction, to determine where to strike. Kakashi can feel him reading the lines of his body, trying to tease out the truth Kakashi usually keeps buried. But this time, he doesn’t actually mind telling Tenzou the truth. “You heard right,” he admits, as he busies himself with setting a kettle on the stove for tea, and turning on the range. “I did go against orders to rescue him. He’s still in the hospital.” 

Kakashi doesn’t have to tell Tenzou how bad it is for his kouhai to understand. Iruka’s been in the hospital for an entire week — he would have to be very seriously injured to necessitate such a long hospitalization. 

“That seems so unlike you, for someone you’re about to divorce. Going through such lengths, anyway.” 

“What are you talking about?” Kakashi asks as he looks at Tenzou over his shoulder, brow slightly furrowed. “You know that I believe a ninja who breaks the rules of the ninja world is trash, but a ninja who abandons his precious companions is worse than trash.”  

Amusement blooms on Tenzou’s face and tapers off into an amused huff. “So. Iruka-sensei is precious, huh, Senpai?” 

Kakashi’s eyes widen as he stares for a moment at Tenzou, stunned, realizing what he’d just walked into. Tenzou, the little shit, knew exactly what he was doing and had set him up for that exact reaction. He swallows, and turns his gaze away, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he drops his gaze down to the kettle. And then he closes his eyes and just lets out a sigh. 

Sometimes, he thinks Tenzou knows him a little too well. 

“Everyone in Konoha is precious,” he says after a moment, and then turns to look at Tenzou.  “Including you.” 

“This isn’t about me. I’m not questioning your loyalty or your ability to care for Konoha’s citizens. But, Iruka is not a particularly spectacular shinobi,” Tenzou points out seriously, cold in his assessment. “Short of his skills in teaching children, he is actually very mediocre. Too soft, too kind, he wouldn’t last a day beyond his current profession. This, you also know.” 

“Tenzou,” Kakashi begins as he straightens up from the slight slouch he’d settled into against the counter, “you know better than to question me. My duty, first and foremost… is to Konoha. And Konoha is not a village of spectacular shinobi — it’s a village of children and the elderly who can no longer fight. It’s civilians, who don’t know the difference between a shuriken or a kunai. It’s men and women, who might not be particularly spectacular… and maybe they wouldn’t last a day beyond teaching children or logging missions and taking records, but that doesn’t make them any less precious.” He pauses for a moment then, eyes hardened with resolve. He wonders, if all the time Tenzou has spent watching Orochimaru has made him forget.  

“If anything, it makes them more precious,” Kakashi continues, “because they’re the reason why we fight, and what we must always protect. Being too kind or too soft is not a weakness, Tenzou. It’s a kind of strength that neither you nor I have.” 

“It's a ‘strength’ neither of us needs because we’re not like the others,” Tenzou retorts. “We are the first line of defense against threats that come from beyond our borders, the first response team. And it is because we are those kind of individuals, Senpai, that you and I both know, if push comes to shove, someone like Iruka-sensei is dispensable. Don’t even pretend otherwise. It’s frankly quite insulting and almost naive.” Tenzou sounds unapologetic with the wording, as cold and detached as he is when he puts on the white mask and armor.

It takes all of Kakashi’s self-control to not grab Tenzou bodily by the collar and slam his fist across his jaw, because really, he should know better than to continue like this. Should know better than to tell Kakashi that  _ anyone  _ from Konoha is dispensable — let alone Iruka, who Kakashi had nearly died for, and would do so again in a heartbeat.

“To abandon your duty is the act of a coward,” Kakashi says, his voice as hard as steel as his fingers curl into a tight fist by his side. “It is not courageous. Below the courageous, there is nothing. That is the way of the shinobi. Those were Yondaime’s words. 

“Yondaime believed that each and every member of the village, even if he didn’t know them, were his family. He believed that when you became the Hokage, you become the father of the village. It becomes your duty to protect the hopes and dreams of everyone living in it — that is the Will of Fire, which we must always protect.  

“You and I might not have hopes and dreams — we certainly haven’t had easy lives. But, that doesn’t change the fact that our duty is to always protect the Will of Fire. And the only reason why that fire continues to burn isn’t because of shinobi like us who don’t understand how to be soft or kind, but because of shinobi like Iruka. 

“Iruka’s role in the village is actually far more important than you might understand. He’s responsible for every generation of shinobi, and making sure they’re properly prepared and understand what it means to be a shinobi. I will not tolerate you talking about him like he’s disposable, and I certainly will not tolerate you suggesting that his role is unimportant. Is that clear?” 

“What are you doing, Senpai?” Tenzou asks, tilting his head to one side. “He’s nothing to you.” 

He’s everything, Kakashi thinks before he can stop himself.

He closes his eyes and takes a measured breath, then lets it out. He knows that no amount of deflection will get him out of this. And it certainly isn’t like he can just run away from it. After all, he’d summoned Tenzou for the sole purpose of remodeling the house to make it accessible for Iruka in the coming months — something he still has yet to tell his kouhai. 

The kettle goes off, and Kakashi turns to face it. He takes his time as he makes two cups of tea — mint for himself, black tea with mint for Tenzou. Once the tea is brewed, he sets the cup down in front of Tenzou heavily, looks him straight in the eye and says, “He’s not nothing to me.”

(It’s the first time he says it aloud, and the sound of it makes something inside of him tremble.)

The pause that follows is a long one and then Tenzou blinks before he slides onto a stool, propping his elbows on the counter, propping his chin “You’re in love with him. I know.” Tenzou  _ grins _ . “You realize it only took two tries to piss you off enough to get that speech out and to have you up in arms to defend his honor? It’s really something. I’ve never seen you be affected by a person so much like this. Does he know?”

The blank expression is gone, replaced by something a little softer, a little more personal, a certain quiet understanding that stems from years of camaraderie. 

That goddamn little shit, Kakashi thinks to himself, as he just stares at Tenzou. 

For a moment, he considers kicking Tenzou’s ass for this, and then making him fix the damage. But instead, he sighs and pulls his mask down, bringing his cup up to his lips. “No,” he admits, and then takes a sip of his tea. 

“Do you want this relationship or not? Because he’s clearly capable of being your emotional safety net. Which you need. A lot of. I think you should go for it. Iruka-sensei, that is.” Tenzou looks serious. 

“I can’t,” Kakashi says, as he stares down into his cup, fingers tightening slightly around the warm circumference. “I’m the reason he was hurt to begin with. It was Moyasu Yaite.” 

Tenzou had been there, all those years ago, when Kakashi had killed Yaite’s wife in front of him. He had seen it, the brutality of it — the way Kakashi used her as a weapon of negotiation, to get Yaite to talk. The mission should have been simple — torture and assassination, like so many others that had come before them. Yaite was never supposed to survive, or escape, but somehow he did.  

Kakashi doesn’t know how many more ghosts will come back to haunt him, and he couldn’t possibly put Iruka further at risk — especially when he’s next in line for Hokage.

“He deserves to be with someone better,” Kakashi says as he stares down at his distorted reflection in the surface of his tea. 

He never asked for this — for this type of attachment, and he hates that it ever happened. There isn’t a part of him that doesn’t wish he could somehow undo it,  because he was never supposed to get attached. 

They were supposed to live together for six months, get divorced, and go their separate ways.

But instead, Kakashi fell in love for the first time in his life, when he didn’t even think such a thing was possible.  

“That’s his choice to make too, isn’t it? Choosing to be with you despite all threats and odds?” Tenzou says. “You can’t make that decision for him. Unless you already have.” A beat. “Did you?” 

Kakashi sighs and sets his cup down on the counter, and that’s the only answer Tenzou will get, because the reality is that the decision had been made long before Kakashi recognized that that reckless, wild feeling inside of him was love. “I didn’t summon you to talk about my love life, Tenzou.” 

“Whatever it is, you’re buying me dinner. I came all the way here. Be considerate.” Tenzou takes a sip of his tea before he tips his chin in question. “What do you need, Senpai?”

“I need you to remodel the house to make it accessible for Iruka,” Kakashi explains, as Tenzou’s face falls like he can’t believe Kakashi would actually have the nerve to summon him for something like that. “Yaite broke both of his legs, so he isn’t going to have an easy recovery.” 

Tenzou’s left eye twitches after the brief flash of something, too quick to catch before he hangs his head in defeat dramatically.

“Why am I not shocked. Why? I should be, but I’m not, because I know you are a manipulative bastard, Senpai. Iruka-sensei ought to smack you with manners!” Tenzou slumps against the counter, folding his arms and pillowing his face between them, before he straightens up and sighs again. “I’m not doing this for you. Just so we’re clear.”   
  
Tenzou does this all the time — puts up a show of resistance but ends up fulfilling Kakashi’s request.

Kakashi just smiles and drops a hand atop Tenzou’s shoulder, patting him twice. “Don’t worry, Tenzou,” he says lightly, with a knowing look. “I’ll buy you a drink, later.”

“You are cruel!” Tenzou says, eyes wide as the protests roll out at how unfair he is, even though Tenzou begins to roll his sleeves higher to get to work.

True to his word, Kakashi does buy Tenzou a drink later.

But like always, Tenzou’s stuck with the bill for dinner. 

 

*

 

If Iruka chooses to be honest with himself, he will admit that as the days go by, as the healing sessions and surgeries conclude, he had hoped that something else would go a little wrong, that Sakura and the team of skilled medics would have missed something, however small, if only because it would mean prolonging his stay in the hospital. Being in the hospital had meant he had a little freedom, had people coming and going to see him, the days going by a little quicker with each pop up of a student or a colleague.

Staying in the hospital would mean not going back to the house.

It isn’t home, nor will it ever be — home is where one goes to see refuge from the ever changing chaos, to find love within the confines of a cruel and sometimes heartless world. Home is meant to serve as a reminder that there will always be someone waiting for your return.

If Iruka can be honest with himself, he would admit that he’s terrified of going back to that house that would only make him feel more vulnerable than he already is.

Something stills in him the moment Kakashi wheels his chair up the ramp from the genkan, right down the hall, and stops by the door of the study that is not quite a study anymore. Iruka eyes the bed, outfitted with adjustable handlebars, sitting in the middle of the room. Low bookshelves line the walls, filled with his books, and there’s even a large, spacious desk with wider leg room to accommodate his wheelchair against the window. Kakashi pushes the curtains open, the afternoon light pouring into the room. 

Kakashi shows him around the rest of the house, passing by the living room and the kitchen, which had been completely remodeled for accessibility. The cooking range now has a smooth induction burner on it, with a space cut out under to fit his wheelchair for ease of cooking. The sink has a space like that too, and it’s wider, lower — like all the cabinets, which he’ll be able to open easily without much struggle. Iruka notices that the floor levels have been adjusted as well — he doesn’t remember them being completely level. There had been a step up into the kitchen, before. 

The bathroom had also been remodeled. It’s far larger than Iruka remembers, and the understated stall that had once stood, unused, is now a beautiful walk-in shower with a waterfall shower head. An adjustable handheld shower head sits in a bracket on a wall, and Iruka can see that there’s also a sturdy wooden bench, with a handlebar. 

Instead of a wall, the shower has a glass sliding door that leads out to a private, enclosed section of their garden, hemmed in by bamboo for privacy. Iruka knows that in the spring, when the weather turns warm, he’ll be able to slide the door open and feel the sunlight and warm air on his skin as he showers. 

Kakashi shows him the garden, too, complete with a ramp leading off the engawa to more accessible walkways that will allow him to wheel himself out to enjoy fresh air and sunlight.

Iruka doesn’t say much these days, mostly because he’s not sure what to say. But looking around the house and his new room that has all his belongings carefully arranged, a house that he doesn’t quite recognize because of the renovation to accommodate him, he feels his throat constrict.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, looking out at the window. “This is a little too much. The house is practically new.”

Kakashi hums good naturedly as his eyes crease above his mask with his smile, and his hands fall lightly on Iruka’s shoulders. “I wanted you to be comfortable,” he explains, and Iruka forces himself to swallow. Kakashi had gone as far as bringing some of the trinkets and flowers back from the hospital. The vase of hyacinths sits perched by the windowsill, a reminder of Kakashi’s guilt. “Besides, I wasn’t the one who did most of this. Let’s just say I took advantage of one of my kouhai, hmm?” 

“Thank you,” Iruka says, looking out the window at the stretch of beautiful greenery that he finds that he has deeply missed. Iruka had spent numerous afternoons sitting in that garden, watching the sunset and sometimes, on a good day, he’d leave seeds for the birds. “Not that the house wasn’t lovely before, but it’s — what I mean is, I’m grateful. Pass my gratitude to Yamato-san too, when you see him next.”

Iruka hears him hums in response.

He remains quiet the rest of the afternoon, a stranger in a house that no longer feels quite like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress?
> 
> \---
> 
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	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** PTSD flashbacks to torture, attempted suicide mention 
> 
> **Soundtrack:** [X Ambassadors - Unsteady (Erich Lee Gravity Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGdaSDwKPG8)
> 
>  
> 
> _Hold, hold on, hold onto me  
>  Cuz I'm a little unsteady  
> A little unsteady_

The first day home should have gone well, or as well as it could, given the circumstances.

They had a nice dinner, one Kakashi had made himself, and though they didn’t speak much, and Iruka couldn’t help but feel a little awkward at the new kitchen table, in a house he doesn’t recognize at all, the food was at least a small comfort. Certainly better than the fare at the hospital.

But then, as he finishes putting away the dishes, Kakashi opens his mouth, and says, “Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

Something in Iruka cracks with the words, his entire body going still, as he keeps his gaze pointedly focused on a spot between Kakashi's eyebrows. He can feel the quake in his bones, a dread so all consuming that its ferocity takes him by surprise and makes his knees go weak, throat constrict, and stomach turn.

No, he thinks frantically. _No._

He doesn’t want to get cleaned up, because that means water, and the last time Iruka was near that much water, he was _drowning,_ repeatedly, and the feeling isn’t unlike what he feels right now, with all the air punched out of his chest.

The idea of the shower, the rushing sound of water hitting tiles from above — he can’t do it. He won’t. Iruka thinks for a moment about soaking in a bath and feels what little of his dinner churns in his gut with an almost gagging lurch.

He tells himself then and there that in order to make this arrangement work, in order to not embarrass and expose himself more than he already has to a man who insists that this is something he wants to do, in order to avoid saying things he'd regret — he must tell Kakashi that this is a bad idea.

At least, for the time being.

Iruka opens his mouth to say just that, heart hammering in his chest so hard that Iruka can't stop his hand from pressing against his chest, rubbing against his sternum, shame and mortification staining his face red as he looks away. "It's been a long day. Can we do it another time?"

He feels the weight of Kakashi’s gaze settling on him, and it’s suddenly too much. He doesn’t want Kakashi’s eyes on him. He doesn’t want Kakashi to see him like this. And he hates how Kakashi just won’t look away, that he’s actually coming closer instead, pulling up a chair next to him and sitting down instead of just letting him be, and giving him space. And then Kakashi’s fingers lightly brush his knee.

The touch feels like a burn, and it goes through the entire length of him, and Iruka can’t stop the way he flinches.

Kakashi’s fingers withdraw gingerly.

“Iruka...” Kakashi’s voice is so gentle that it’s almost enough to break Iruka again. He doesn’t want this right now. Doesn’t want Kakashi here, looking at him, being _gentle._ It makes him feel too fragile, too vulnerable. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here.”

 _No, you are not, stop lying to me,_ Iruka wants to snap and finds himself glaring at Kakashi, feels irrational irritation coat his words and the rest of his face.

"I am aware," Iruka says instead, casting a long look across the hallway and forcing himself to taking a measured breath. Even with Kakashi sitting no more than a foot across from him, Iruka has never felt more alone in his life, confined and physically impaired in a wheelchair, in a house that he doesn't belong in. “I’ll manage fine on my own.”

“Okay,” Kakashi concedes softly and sits back a little, but Iruka can see the reluctance in his eyes, in the concern that keeps washing over him endlessly. “You’ll feel a lot better with clean hair,” he adds, as he gets up to take the handlebars of his wheelchair, and all Iruka can think is this is not happening, _this cannot be happening._

The walls of the house melt away to shadows, and all Iruka sees before him is the decrepit, suffocatingly narrow hallways of the old fortress. He doesn't realize when they've entered the brightly lit bathroom, or how his fingers tremble as he undoes his yukata. He hears Kakashi puttering around to keep everything within arm's reach, and watches as Kakashi kneels beside him and forms seals to cast a protective jutsu over his casts. Gentle fingers help him peel the rest of his clothing away — but suddenly they’re no longer Kakashi's hands. These hands are wiry, long, scarred, and spotted, and everything that Iruka wants to forget and never feel on him again. Resisting is futile, so Iruka remains unmoving, going with the motions of being stripped.

Iruka feels trapped in the confines of his chair, the small space and the circle of Kakashi's arms around him when he lifts him up to carry him to the bench, as strong as the ropes that had held him down. And when he hears the rush of water, when he hears Kakashi adjust the water temperature, it's all Iruka can do and not just outright wrench himself away as far as possible. Helplessly, with dread that feels like knives, he thinks they're filling the buckets again, making him listen and stew in the sounds of his inevitable suffering.

The shower head being pulled and set beside him startles him, fingers wrapping around it in a vice when Kakashi places it gently in his hands.

“Go away,” Iruka murmurs as he keeps his head ducked and watches the water flow on the tiles, like all those times he had choked the water out and they had turned him over to expel the water to the floor, Bear’s large hands on his shoulders, and all he could say was, _go away, please go away, enough, enough!_

The water suddenly turns off, and Iruka finds himself wrapped in something warm and fluffy, and he’s staring at a pair of knees. But then, a pair of warm hands very gently come up to cup his face and Iruka flinches, fighting back. He doesn’t want to be touched, not like this, not by those hands, not again — and his eyes are wild as they snap up and he tries to pull himself back, shrinking against the wall, as though he can somehow escape—

"You're wasting your time," Iruka says, words trembling as the dread mounts and the silence surrounds him because the buckets must be full by now, ready for use. "I told you you're wasting your time! He's not going to come! I am not his husband! We're not married! It was a mistake! He doesn't love me like that all, please, please, please!" Iruka shuts his eyes and feels his lungs expand as he begs and _screams_ to be burned instead, for it all to end, because he'd rather burn and die than drown over and over again, with no end in sight.  

Suddenly, there’s an explosion of warmth, like the sun pouring down on him, and the air grows sweet with honeysuckle and clover and the fresh, clean scent of summer grass. Iruka can feel the warm earth beneath his feet, and a gentle breeze brushes against his skin. He’s so startled that he opens his eyes and discovers that he’s sitting on a bench in the middle of a field filled with flowers as far as the eye can see.

Above him, the sun shines bright and the sky is impossibly blue and clear.  

Some part of Iruka knows that this can’t possibly be real.

It’s too beautiful, the way everything seems to shimmer, the breathtaking perfection of it.

And Kakashi is right there, crouched in front of him, looking up at him with concern filling his eyes. His hands are framing Iruka’s face, thumbs gently brushing away hot tears.  “Iruka,” he says, voice filled with worry. “I need you to listen to the sound of my voice. Breathe slowly.”

Iruka pushes Kakashi backwards with all the strength he can musters, knowing well then and there that none of this is real at all, not the beauty around him, the feeling of Kakashi's hands on him and the gentleness of it, nor the sound of his voice.

It comes out broken, the walls that had once been tall and proud now lying in rubble and ash. Iruka covers his eyes with his hands, doubling over to reject the preternaturally beautiful reality that his mind has cooked up to survive, feels the quake and raw grief and palpable fear scrape at the base of his throat as he yells, "You're not real! You're not even here! _You're a lie!_ "

“Iruka. You are a chuunin. You are stronger than you know. Dispel the genjutsu,” Kakashi _commands,_ and his voice is the voice of a general, the voice of the next Hokage. The voice of the man Iruka has come to love.

It cuts through him like a kunai, and before Iruka even registers what he's doing, his hands press into the release seal and he chokes out a sharp, loud _kai._ The fields disappear and the smell of clean, wet tiles and the distant fragrance of household detergents fills his nose as Iruka finds himself staring down at Kakashi's concerned gaze, finds himself caught up in a tense silence as he blinks the last of his tears from his eyes and swallows thickly.

It hits him like a collapsing pile of rocks, what he had done, what he had said, what he had just revealed to the last person he had wanted to expose more of himself to. A shaky hand comes up to cover his mouth, a fresh wave of shame tugging at his features and staining his entire face and neck red. Iruka says nothing, doesn’t trust himself to as he shies away from Kakashi’s gaze and stares at his knees instead, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“I want you to breathe slowly,” Kakashi says softly. “In through your nose and out through your mouth. Can you do that for me?”

Iruka nods without bringing his hand away from his mouth, not trusting himself or his own voice. He breathes long and deeply through his nose, exhaling slowly between his fingers, repeating it a few times until he feel his heartbeat slow down enough to not feel like it wants to break through his rib cage. The awareness gradually creeps up towards him, the biting cold of winter held just beyond the walls of the house breaking goosebumps across his skin, the soft quietness of the house, and the distant sound of the forest beyond the walls. He feels Kakashi's warmth radiating off him, slow and steady, just like how he's always been since their return to Konoha. He stares at the hand resting on his knee, recognizes that it isn't long and wiry and spotted, but strong and sure, and much to his dismay, a comforting presence when Iruka isn't quite sure sometimes as to what's real and what isn’t.

His own hand drops from his mouth, and Iruka sucks in a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion.

Kakashi looks at him quietly and then raises a hand to gently smooth back some hair.

And then, Iruka watches as he lifts his fingers into the kage bunshin seal, and the next thing Iruka knows, he’s staring at Kakashi and his clone. The clone looks down at Iruka, worry pinched between the brows, and then at Kakashi, who nods in the direction of the open bathroom door. The clone seems to understand what he intends, and disappears.

Kakashi reaches up and gently wraps the towel draped around Iruka a little more tightly around him. “It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to take a shower.” The relief so strong that it makes Iruka slump further down against the wall, a shuddering gasp leaving him. It’s almost liberating, just hearing those words.

For a moment, Kakashi just looks at him, his eyes dark and sad, and then he tells him, “I’m going to pick you up now.” It’s the only warning Iruka gets before Kakashi slides an arm under Iruka’s knees and another around his back and hoists him up against his chest. Kakashi feels so warm and solid, and Iruka can’t help but lean against his chest, resting his cheek against Kakashi’s shoulder.  

Instead of putting Iruka back in his wheelchair, however, Kakashi carries him out of the bathroom and into the hall. Iruka’s too exhausted to ask where they’re going, as Kakashi carries him past the kitchen and up the stairs. And then, they head towards Kakashi’s bedroom.

Through the open door, Iruka can see the light on in Kakashi’s bathroom. Can hear the sound of running water, and he immediately tenses up. Kakashi seems to sense his discomfort, as he glances at him.

“It’s okay,” he reassures softly. “I won’t make you do anything you aren’t ready to do.”

Iruka stares at him with alarm, going as stiff as a board in his arms, his throat slowly constricting. He breathes in long and deep, closing his eyes as he inhales the all too familiar scent of musk and open fields and the distant hint of laundry detergent.

They enter Kakashi’s bedroom, and then Kakashi sets him down on his bed, and crouches down next to him. “Would a bubble bath be okay?” he asks softly, looking up at Iruka. “You won’t be alone. I won’t leave you.”

"I don't know," Iruka murmurs, and shakes his head, so ashamed. "I should probably at least try. I've caused enough trouble already..."

“You haven't caused any trouble.” There is no hesitation, no doubt in Kakashi's voice. “If you aren't ready to try, you don't have to.”

Iruka casts a long look at the bathroom doorway before he nods, not quite sure what he’s agreeing to. “All right…”

Kakashi hums softly, and gently gives Iruka’s forearm a reassuring squeeze, and Iruka realizes, as he looks back at Kakashi, that the look in his eyes is one of understanding. Kakashi isn't just being considerate of him. Kakashi _understands._ “If, at any point, you want to stop, just say the word,” Kakashi reassures him again. “Don't try to force yourself. These things… take time.”

In the bathroom, the roar of the water stops.

The clone appears in the doorway, and then glances at Iruka, before looking at Kakashi. “It's ready,” he says, and Kakashi nods, then turns his gaze back to Iruka.

“We’ll take it slow,” he says.

There is a quiet moment between them before Iruka nods, brows pinching when Kakashi shifts from where he is kneeling and effortlessly picks him up from the bed. Iruka closes his eyes and listens to his own breathing. The strong smell of something soapy and clean fills his nose, a little woodsy like pine and musk. It's a scent that fills his lungs, and for a moment, it's like having Kakashi wrapped all around him, warm and real and here.

It's a little too much.

Iruka feels the edge of the tub under him when Kakashi lowers him, and when he opens his eyes, he can barely see the edge of the tub. The entire large tub is filled, brimming over with soft suds, clouds of them. It makes Iruka do a double take, catches him off guard, and for the briefest of moments, he finds himself forgetting about hands roaming over his skin and water choking him, forgets the pain and grief and wonders, just how much soap had Kakashi used?

It's a fleeting thought, and comes and goes as quickly as a blink when he looks up at Kakashi with a puzzled expression, then back down at the tub.

“Ah,” Kakashi says, as he follows Iruka’s line of sight down to the clouds of bubbles teeming over the edge of the tub. “It seems my clone overdid it a little.” A wry smile ghosts over Kakashi's lips as he drops down to one knee before Iruka.  “Why don't you try putting your hand in, hmm? Do you think you can do that?”

Something stiffens in the line of Iruka's shoulders, pulling the lines of his body taut as he looks at the tub once more. Iruka tells himself that he'll achieve nothing by not trying. It is with considerable trepidation that he careful uncurls the fist on his lap and carefully presses it against the cloud of white, watching as the cloud shifts and moves, pushing more suds to the floor, until he feels warm water under his fingertips. He runs his fingers over the surface of it, along the wall of the tub, and closes his eyes.

It's nowhere near as icy as the water that Iruka remembers. He's not sure how long he sits there like that, feeling the warm water under his touch, watching the garden beyond the stretch of the glass window. He can see stars dotting the heavens, and shadows of the snow topped covered trees of their white garden below. There is nothing in the space around him that resembles anything remotely close to the environment of his captivity.

Iruka had always known that Kakashi had a spectacular view, had wondered sometimes, during the days when he had lost their bets and was tricked into doing Kakashi's chores, if Kakashi liked to take long baths and read his book while looking out over all the splendor through the window.

Iruka pulls his hand out of the tub, suds sticking to the length of his arm, and looks at Kakashi for a moment.

“I think I can…” Iruka doesn’t quite finish the sentence, but punctuates it with a nod at the tub.

Kakashi nods, and straightens up. Iruka watches as he pulls the drawstring on the soft black pants he's clad in, that he normally wears when he dresses down, and pushes them down to the floor. He's wearing a pair of black boxer briefs underneath — and if this were any other situation, Iruka might have appreciated the view.

“I'm going to pick you up,” Kakashi tells him, and Iruka nods, and lets the towel around him drop as he reaches an arm up to slide around Kakashi's neck as he's hoisted up again. And then, Kakashi steps into the deep tub, the bubbles going up all the way past his thighs.

Iruka can’t remember the last time he’s had a bubble bath. It’s been years.

“Are you ready?” Kakashi asks, and Iruka thinks no. How can you ever be ready to confront such a visceral fear? But he nods his head anyway, mouth drawing into a tight line. “Okay,” Kakashi says. “Down we go.”

Kakashi slowly lowers him down, past the clouds of bubbles that hide what's underneath. Iruka feels the warmth of water come up around his feet through the jutsu as they're submerged, and for a short moment, his breath hitches in his lungs. He tenses, as rigid as a board in Kakashi’s arms, staring with a wide eyed gaze at the soft clouds of suds, heart racing in his chest. Iruka doesn’t realize how hard his fingers are digging into Kakashi’s shoulders — hard enough to leave bruises, or how he has pressed himself flush against Kakashi’s chest, the tendons around his neck pulled taut as his jaw locks and grinds.

Kakashi pauses, glancing down at him. “Doing okay?”

Iruka doesn’t respond immediately, but he looks up and finds himself staring at Kakashi’s face, but a breath away. This close he can see the shadow of Kakashi’s day old stubble, can see the scar on his lip and the mole on his chin and count every individual eyelash. Iruka stares at the face before him, openly, dazedly, grounding himself with what’s before him, telling himself that this isn’t Bear or Yaite or any of the goons who had given him a taste of hell.  
  
This is Kakashi. Kakashi who brought him home. Kakashi who lit up the night sky like a god, and Kakashi who had torn through bodies, leaving carnage in his wake — Kakashi who had fought for him.

There’s no part of Iruka that Kakashi hasn’t seen. Iruka knows that it’s futile to feel embarrassed at this point. But he feels it anyway, amidst the ugly thing that renders him paralyzed and trembling, and welcomes it with open arms, because anything is better than feeling cold fear.

“You can put me down,” Iruka finally says, feeling something thicken in his voice as he looks away from the concern in Kakashi’s eyes. He dares not to think on what else that look might contain— because it’s not, never will be what he wishes he could have but never will — and swallows, unable to look back again. “I’m alright.”

Iruka can feel the way Kakashi looks at him — a little uncertain, like he's not sure if he believes him, but then he complies, and gently starts to lower Iruka the rest of the way into the water. The jutsu covers the parts of his legs that are encased in a cast, but Iruka can still feel the warmth seeping through as he's further submerged, and then the rest of him is suddenly surrounded by warm water that comes up to his chest as Kakashi's arms slide out from under him. The layer of bubbles is so thick that it brushes the bottom of his chin.

“Are you okay?” Kakashi asks, leaning down over him.

Iruka wants to say no. He wants to tell him that he’d rather be somewhere dry, clothed, and not bare like this. That he hates being this powerless, this dependent, this paralyzed by an irrational fear that he can’t seem to wrestle into some form of control.  
  
Iruka swallows, and nods a little mutely, willing his heart to slow down, sucking the soap scented air around him, Kakashi’s comforting scent filling his lungs like a treacherous warmth he doesn’t want, but deep down knows he needs.  
  
Iruka opens his eyes again, and brings his hands up from the water, watching it sluice down his fingers. Bitterly, he realizes that his fingers won’t stop shaking. He balls them to fists and carefully lowers them again into the water, resting them on his knees and focuses on the little things instead. Like how the itch beneath his casts gets washed away by the warmth radiating through the jutsu. He tells himself to think of the times when he had wanted nothing more but to rip the cast off, dig his nails into his skin, claw that itch out. Anything but the way his hands tremble.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Iruka murmurs and keeps his gaze down, watching the small cluster of bubbles pop and fizz out.

“What are you apologizing for, hmm?” Kakashi’s mouth forms itself into a faint, soft smile, and then he straightens up. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Iruka comes up with a hundred reasons to be sorry, his lips momentarily trembling, before he just opts for a shrug instead.

Kakashi wades through the sea of bubbles, and gets out of the tub, and Iruka’s eyes drift back to the garden through the window as the heat from the bath slowly soaks into his bones.

It’s not so bad, he realizes, as his trembles slow, until they stop completely. The thought comes with a washing sense of euphoric relief and achievement, at the fact that he doesn’t want to just get up and run. He remembers in that quiet moment, as his mind drifts, why he loves soaking in a hot tub like this, and while he didn’t always have the pleasure of doing it all the time, he thinks, as he watches the radiating glow of the light in their garden, that when this is all over, he’ll do his best to do something like this more often.

Kakashi sets down a cup on the edge of the tub, and then drops down to a knee, dipping a washcloth past the bubbles into the water. He rubs it around a bar of soap, forming a lather, then starts at Iruka’s neck, the washcloth soothing and warm as it works its way down the curve and over the slope of Iruka’s shoulder.

Iruka remains still through it all, pliant as Kakashi washes off the stickiness that a hundred sponge baths will never be able to fully wash off his skin. He keeps his head ducked as Kakashi lifts his arm up, a gentle coax, voice soft and gentle — it’s a slow burn, Iruka realizes, with shame dusting over his cheeks again. Never in all his life would Iruka have ever thought that he would fall in love with someone when their affection isn't returned.

Kakashi has a reputation, after all, and commitment has never been part of his genetic makeup.

Once upon a time, perhaps, Iruka would have trusted his instincts, would have read the signs the gentle looks, the soft touches, the tenderness that he’s never seen outside the walls of the house they share, that Kakashi had directed at him — once upon a time, he would have understood it all. But, Iruka knows better than to trust his own ability to read emotions when he’s in love. After all, he has a scar far too large and far too deep in the middle of his back to remind him of the fact that he should know better.

Kakashi would never abandon a comrade. He would never leave them behind. Iruka is quite certain that the guilt which lies upon Kakashi like his skin, and presses down the edges of him and settles dark in his gaze, is what fuels the slow, patient way the washcloth moves over Iruka’s skin.

Iruka knows better.

It hurts like nothing he’s ever felt, a deep seated kind of burn that’s cold and sharp, to want something so much and know that it’ll never be. It settles deep in Iruka’s bones, wrapping tight around every single fiber of his being, and he wishes, like has so many times before, that there were some way he could simply quit Hatake Kakashi. And then, with a turn of his gut and shudder of breath, Iruka wishes he had never woken up in that hotel room, never even crossed paths with Kakashi at all.

In the end, all that he’s left with is the yawning sense of sadness and self-loathing, enough to make him curl in a little on himself, and realize, with growing resentment, as he continues to stare unseeingly at the garden beyond the glass, that he can’t even make himself cry over it — the ocean long dried out, leaving nothing but salt in his eyes.

He had no business falling in love with Kakashi.

“I’m so tired…” Iruka murmurs, shutting his eyes as his throat closes up, and Kakashi hums softly in response, telling him to relax, that he'll take care of him. Iruka is just so tired of it all — the long wait that had felt like decades of imprisonment, the powerlessness, the wounds that may take a lifetime to heal. Trying too hard is starting to feel a little more pointless with each passing day and each brush of Kakashi’s fingers against his skin.

Iruka really doesn't understand why Kakashi has to _touch_ him so much. Ever since the rescue, it’s like his fingers keep finding him — settling over his shoulder, or weaving through his fingers. Grazing down the slope of his jaw or brushing over his knee. It's like Kakashi is trying to ground himself by touching him, as though he's scared that if he doesn't map Iruka out with his hands, Iruka might somehow disappear again.

Iruka tells himself it's not really Kakashi being affectionate — he's just being careful, because he's afraid of breaking Iruka any more than he's already broken. He touches him because Iruka is fragile, because he thinks it'll somehow hold together the broken pieces of him.

That has to be it, because there can't be any other alternative.

Iruka shudders as Kakashi sets the washcloth aside, and his soapy fingers gently come up to massage the tense tendons of his neck.

“I’d like to help you wash your hair,” Kakashi tells him, his voice breaking through the quiet of the bathroom. “Do you think you can handle that?”

What does it even matter, Iruka wants to say. Instead, he says, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

There’s not much he can hide anymore, not when he’s been turned inside out and exposed the way he already is. He punctuates the statement with another weak shrug of his shoulders and reaches up to tug at the damp tips of his hair, and Kakashi nods, reaching for the cup sitting on the edge of the tub. He makes a hole in the bubbles, and then dips the cup into the water, lifting it up. Like a snap of fingers, Iruka tenses up, watching the actions warily, trust crumbling.

And then Kakashi gently reaches up and slides his fingers through Iruka’s hair, pulling it away from the crown of his head as he has him lean his head back. Warm water slowly sluices through the strands a moment later.

It takes a lot of willpower to not just yank his head back from the edge of the tub, to stay still and stare up at the ceiling, breathing slowly through his nose. Iruka listens to the slow, gentle flow of water, and focuses on the warm fingers in his hair, tugging carefully at knots. He stares at the underside of Kakashi’s chin, watches how his arms flex with the motions of washing his hair, the concentration and focus in his brows, as he squeezes a generous amount of shampoo and kneads his fingers against his scalp. It’s a wonderful sensation, relaxing even, and without realizing, Iruka forgets that he should be afraid, forgets that having his head tipped back had meant a repeat in the cycle he had tried to break out of by slitting his throat open. When Kakashi’s thumbs rub slow circles around his temples, Iruka releases a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. There’s something far too intimate about this gesture, a stretch above and beyond what one would do for a comrade.

When Kakashi starts to gently rinse out the shampoo, fingers carding through his hair, Iruka opens his eyes to look up at him and carefully says, “You are doing too much for me, Kakashi-san. I’m taking too much of your time.”

Kakashi pauses for a moment with his fingers in Iruka’s hair, and Iruka catches the smallest pinch forming between his brows before it evens out, like it’d never been there at all. And then, Kakashi resumes rinsing the suds out of his hair. “You know, Iruka,” he begins, as the water runs clear. “I distinctly remember, not so long ago, when you were the one doing this for me.” He sets the cup down on the side of the tub, and then carefully squeezes the water out of Iruka’s hair. “Maa, I suppose I was in the shower, but I remember telling you that you weren’t supposed to see me like that. But you told me that you were my husband, and even if you weren’t, you’d do it again.”

Iruka remembers that night like it was only yesterday — how he had picked Kakashi off the floor, how he had knelt before him and cleaned the mud and grime off him, how he had stitched him up and put him to bed — the blood had taken forever to clean, there had been so much of it seeping into the wood. Iruka remembers how he had felt then too, had known for a while. He remembers already trying to forget how he felt towards Kakashi.

Just when he thinks there is nothing remaining that can hurt anymore that it already has, he feels the sharp twinge and _twist_ of his heart. Kakashi must know this — Iruka had been in love with him then, would have given him the world and every part of him if he could. Iruka remembers everything that had followed after too, how the words and actions had not lined up, and Iruka knows better than to fully count on and believe the soft touches, kind looks, and quiet moments shared in between.

To compare their present to that thing of the past is cruel, Iruka thinks, when Kakashi never could fathom the depths of what Iruka had felt for him back then. “That’s different,” Iruka says, swallowing thickly. “You know that.”

Kakashi’s eyes darken, like clouds passing over the moon in the night sky, blocking out the light. It passes a moment later. Kakashi hums, easy as can be, and lets his hands settle on Iruka’s shoulders. “Perhaps,” he responds lightly, as his eyes meet Iruka’s. “But I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”

I wish you didn't, Iruka wants to say, but he keeps his mouth closed, because he knows — Kakashi would never understand how much kindness can hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Let's all form a prayer circle for poor Iruka. :(
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	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Soundtrack:** [Tom Odell - Can't Pretend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqwWposBhEY)
> 
> _Love, I have wounds  
>  Only you can mend  
> You can mend   
> I guess that’s love  
> I can’t pretend  
> I can’t pretend_

Kakashi watches the sun rise on the fifteenth day of the sixth month of their marriage. 

It is slow and unhurried, like the rest of Konoha at dawn, when the streets are still empty and the shops still closed, and most of the village turns their faces away from the start of the day, wrapped up underneath warm layers to ward out the cold.

It could have been beautiful, the way the world wakes, golden light pouring through the watercolor sky. Just a little over a month ago, they had enjoyed a dawn like this — standing on the engawa with steaming cups in their hands, their breaths frosting in the early morning air.

It’s too early, Kakashi had said with sleep still in his eyes. 

Iruka smiled at him, something soft and sweet that made Kakashi feel warm. It’s never too early to appreciate something so beautiful, he said, and Kakashi looked at him, at the way the sun broke past the horizon and danced through frost-tipped trees, gold spilling over his warm skin. And he thought to himself that if he could, he would spend the rest of his life waking early if it meant he could see Iruka standing next to him, bathed in sunlight with a soft smile on his face. 

But Kakashi knew they didn’t have many more mornings left, so he wanted to make the ones they did have to count. He committed it all to memory — the curve of Iruka’s lashes, the relaxed set of his brow, the way sunlight scintillated on his skin, and the softness of his mouth. The way his hair softly framed his face as he stood and regarded the start of the day with a cup of tea in his hand, unguarded and beautiful and everything Kakashi knew he could only ever dream about, but never have.

He would hold onto the memory, to the moment, even if he didn’t know how to hold onto Iruka, because he didn’t have the right. It was just a matter of time before their time together would come to an end, and Kakashi would have to face sunrises alone, without the warmth of Iruka by his side. 

But that dawn, that smile — he had that. 

And he knew he would hold onto that moment for the rest of his life. 

He never expected things would go so wrong.

Never thought he would find himself standing here alone, while Iruka sleeps inside, with his face turned away from the sun, like he can no longer bear the thought of anything beautiful, when the rest of him is so broken.  

Kakashi doesn’t know if he’ll ever smile the way he once did, if he’ll ever be able to sleep without shadows chasing him through the night, waiting to strike when he least expects. If he’ll ever look at Kakashi again the way he did on that cold winter morning, when dawn was still beautiful, and Iruka’s eyes still shone with hope. 

Kakashi doesn’t know if he’ll be able to put the pieces of Iruka back together into something whole. He can only hope his arms are strong enough to hold him when he falls. 

 

*

 

(He’ll never forget how it felt to watch Iruka lose himself in the hell he had tried to save him from. How it felt to realize that he didn’t save all of him, only the living part. He brought home the part of him that was flesh and blood, but not the part that put the light in his eyes or the warmth in his smile. That part had been lost to the fire, and no matter how much Kakashi tries to dig, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to pull those parts back out with his hands. They were ripped from Iruka piece by piece, until all that was left was a shadow of himself.)

Kakashi wishes he had the power to pull the sun from the sky and put the light back into Iruka.

He doesn’t think he can bear the thought that the light will never return, when it was always the most beautiful thing about Iruka — and shone brighter than anything Kakashi had ever known. So beautiful, sometimes it hurt to look at, like staring at the sun for a little too long. 

He’s not sure when Iruka became the sun around which his world turned. But if there’s one thing he does know it’s this: until the sun rises again in Iruka’s sky, he won’t give up on him.

(He doesn’t need Iruka to love him back. 

All he needs is to just see him smile again the way he once did.) 

 

 

*

 

 

The truth is, Kakashi doesn’t actually know what the fuck he’s doing.

He’s never cared for someone like this, never dedicated so much of his life to ensuring their comfort and happiness. He doesn’t know if he can trust his hands to be gentle enough, when they weren’t made for tenderness, but for war. When their only purpose has only ever been to break lives, not to put someone back together. 

There are times when he doesn’t know how to touch Iruka — or if he’s even supposed to touch him at all. He tells himself to stop letting his hands drift, but they keep finding their way back to Iruka’s shores. 

But Iruka seems increasingly tense and distressed the more Kakashi tries to show him affection, and tries to give him all the kindness and love he deserves. To remind him that he isn’t alone, so that he can feel safe once more. And Kakashi doesn’t know if it’s because he’s afraid of being touched, or if it’s because the feeling of hands on him makes him remember everything he would rather forget. So, Kakashi tries to stop his hands from drifting, tries to give Iruka a little more space, other than when he helps him into and out of the bathtub, and when their fingers occasionally brush in the kitchen when Iruka passes him a bowl of soup to bring to the table.  

(His fingers ache with the loss. He tries not to think about it too much.)

He rewards him with the things Iruka loves after the grueling ordeal of each bath — a steaming bowl of ramen from Ichiraku; delicate, fluffy cakes from the bakery; imported oranges from Mizu, paired with his favorite tea. He summons the pack and lets Bisuke sleep in Iruka’s bed, and invites Naruto to come spend time with him, alone, so that Iruka can have some company that isn’t Kakashi. One afternoon, towards the end of the first week, Kakashi covers Iruka’s lap with a blanket and takes him to the Academy to spend some time surrounded by students and coworkers. 

Though Iruka doesn’t quite smile or laugh the way he once did, his mood improves considerably, and Kakashi considers that progress, however small. It’s only the first week of Iruka’s long journey to recovery — they have months ahead of them for Kakashi to figure out the right way to stitch Iruka back together. 

But it’s nights that are most dangerous of all. 

Kakashi had taken to sleeping on the couch in the living room. He told himself it was for practicality, in case there was ever anything Iruka needed. (But the truth is, he just wanted to be close to him, to make sure he was safe. He couldn’t fall asleep alone upstairs, not knowing if Iruka was okay. Listening to him breathe, feeling the gentle, steady stream of his chakra in the room next door is how Kakashi gets to sleep.) 

On the sixth night, Iruka wakes up screaming. It’s all Kakashi can do to hold him as Iruka shakes and presses his face against Kakashi’s chest, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. He’s covered in sweat and his breaths are harsh and frantic, and it sends something terribly violent through Kakashi that has nowhere to go but inwards. 

It feels like a star collapsing inside of him.

(Or maybe this is just how it feels to be helpless in the face of an enemy he can’t kill.)

Eventually, the tears slow and Iruka’s breathing evens out, and Kakashi coaxes him to lie back down. Iruka’s hands clutch at him like a lifeline, like he’s the only thing keeping him grounded to reality, to the here and now, and not the horror that they left behind on a burning cliff. 

Kakashi takes one look at him, at the exhaustion that hollowed out his eyes, at the salt tracks that line his cheeks, and gets into bed with him wordlessly. He tucks Iruka’s face under his chin and lets him hide there, where he can be safe in the security of Kakashi’s arms.

Kakashi doesn’t leave him until Iruka’s breaths are steady and slow and the first glimmer of dawn breaks past the horizon. 

 

*

 

 

Kakashi hates that Iruka won’t stop apologizing. 

He really wishes that he would stop.

But no matter how many times Kakashi tells him that there’s nothing to apologize for, Iruka seems to forget, and then apologizes for apologizing.

(But Kakashi knows — only one of them really needs to be forgiven, and it isn’t Iruka.)

 

*

 

Some days, Kakashi wishes he had the power to turn back time. To return to a time when Iruka was whole and still loved him. He doesn’t know how Iruka could possibly love him now, after everything Kakashi had taken away from him — how he can even look at Kakashi without seeing the face of the monster who haunts him in his sleep. 

Iruka might have loved him, once. 

But Kakashi told him he didn’t want his love, and that’s not something he can ever take back, no matter how much he wishes he could. It’s not a bell he can unring, or a wound he can heal so easily — not when Iruka believes it, too. 

_ He doesn’t love me like that at all,  _ Iruka had cried during their first night home, when the past came calling so loudly, it was all Iruka could see and hear. 

Kakashi’s not sure what was worse — the fact that Iruka believed he wasn’t coming for him, or that he believed Kakashi doesn’t love him at all. 

Kakashi wishes he had the courage to be selfish enough to tell Iruka the truth. 

But he’s taken too much from Iruka already. Has hurt him far too much. 

It would be too much, too late, and far too cruel for Kakashi to tell him this now: I’ve loved you all along, and I don’t know how to stop myself.

 

*

 

With Iruka on the road to recovery, Tenzou had expected things to fall into place. Or at least, he thought that things would move forward a little more positively.

But when he catches sight of Kakashi stepping out of the council meeting across the hall from the Hokage’s office, Tenzou knows, just by looking at him, that there’s something wrong. There’s a weight on Kakashi’s shoulders, tension running down his spine, and dark circles under his eyes that clearly indicate he hasn’t been sleeping much. And there’s a look in his eyes that Tenzou recognizes — it’s the way Kakashi looks when he wants to forget. 

It’s all wrong and out of place. 

(Sometimes, Tenzou thinks he knows what Kakashi needs more than Kakashi himself.)

Tenzou had just finished submitting his written report, after escorting Orochimaru into Konoha. He hadn’t expected to run into Kakashi so soon. He most certainly was not expecting to find him looking like  _ this _ .

“Senpai,” he greets, calling from across the hall and raising a hand as he approaches him, casual as can be, wearing a face that fits Yamato. He even offers him a bit of a smile. “You look like you could use some company. Meeting went all right?”

Kakashi looks a little surprised to see him — but then, it’s rare for them to run into each other in Konoha these days. His expression softens slightly, and he dips his head in greeting, not bothering to remove his hands from his pockets as he strolls up. “Ah, you know how it is,” he says. “Politics. Budgets. Incredibly exciting.” Kakashi’s voice can’t sound any dryer, and then his gaze slides over Tenzou smoothly.

“Are you offering to buy your poor, overworked senpai a drink?” 

It sounds almost rehearsed, the way Kakashi delivers it. A little too smoothly executed, but Tenzou can see through the cracks. He can hear the strain between the syllables, can feel the nearly imperceptible ripples that break up the smooth surface of Kakashi’s chakra.  

“Points for guessing right, Senpai,” Tenzou says, and Kakashi almost manages to make himself look a little surprised at the fact that he hadn’t leveled him with a flat look and a complaint that Kakashi was just using him for free drinks, again. Tenzou just thinks he looks tired, in a way he normally isn’t. “I’m going to be in town for a while,” he explains. “Come on. I’ve got a bottle in my quarters that has your name all over it.” Tenzou pauses, and wonders if Kakashi can hear the hesitation in the invitation. He turns towards the direction of the door, tilting his head. “Coming?”

For a moment, it looks like Kakashi might actually turn him down. 

There’s a distant look in his eyes, and Tenzou knows he’s thinking of Iruka. And if it were anyone else, they would have never noticed it at all — the way Kakashi’s brows start to furrow, before he catches himself and his expression smooths out. 

But Tenzou isn’t just anyone. 

He knows, before Kakashi takes a step forward, that he’s decided to take him up on his offer. 

They walk in a comfortable silence all the way to the ANBU quarters, where Tenzou had been given a room for the duration of his stay in Konoha. And when they step past the door and the lock clicks into place, Tenzou immediately plants a firm palm against the door, boxing Kakashi in, as he yanks his mask down and crushes their mouths together, hot and wanting. It’s so easy with Kakashi, so easy for need to ignite like a firecracker. He releases the edge of the mask and lets his fingers drag down to wrap around Kakashi’s throat to hold him in place, tongue brushing against the seam of his mouth, demanding entry.

Kakashi’s pulse jumps up to meet his palm, and he shudders against the door, lips parting as his hands instinctively come up to curl around Tenzou’s hips.

But there’s something different about this kiss — Kakashi isn’t responding the way he normally would, with the kind of enthusiasm Tenzou’s come to expect. It’s like he isn’t completely present, and Tenzou can practically  _ feel _ him thinking too much, and decides to provide a remedy. 

His teeth crush down on Kakashi’s lower lip and he rocks his body forward to let it crash against him, trying to tease out the response he knows he can pull from Kakashi. But instead of being rewarded with the reaction he’d expected, Kakashi sucks in a sharp breath and reaches a hand up to splay against his chest, and then breaks the kiss entirely. 

And all Tenzou can think is, what the fuck. 

Because in their twelve years of sleeping together and attending to the other’s needs, Kakashi has never once pushed him away, until now. 

Tenzou looks at him carefully, trying to understand what the problem is. Kakashi looks almost distraught, like he’s done something terribly wrong, brows twisted as he licks his kiss-bruised lips and lets out a shuddering breath. “Sorry,” he says, and his voice sounds almost broken as he gently pushes Tenzou back a little — just enough to put some space between them. “I can’t do this right now.” 

Tenzou keeps his hand against the door, bringing up his other hand to brush the last of their kiss off his lips. He doesn't step away though, not yet. Not until he understands what has changed since the last time he had seen Kakashi. Kakashi had more or less admitted his affections towards Iruka, but they aren't exactly together. To Tenzou's knowledge, it's all one-sided. Iruka is either too blind and not yet well versed in understanding Kakashi's modus operandi, or it's a lost cause and he's genuinely not interested. 

“Oh?” Tenzou tilts his head, bringing his other hand to rest against the door. “Would it help if I henged to our favorite sensei?” 

Kakashi’s eyes flash like lightning carving across the night sky, and then he pushes right past Tenzou and heads straight for the bottle of whisky sitting on the nightstand, uncapping it and taking a long swig, before sitting down on the bed. “I shouldn’t even be here right now,” he says after a tense moment as he stares down at the bottle in his hands.

Tenzou ducks his head as bites his lower lip, expression flattening to something neutral. He doesn't say anything immediately, opting instead to lean against the door and watch Kakashi tear himself apart on his bed. Tenzou doesn’t recognize this part of Kakashi, isn’t even sure what to do with it. Monogamy was never Kakashi’s cup of tea; to see this unfold before him is almost as amusing as it is shocking. “So it’s official. You and Iruka-sensei.” Tenzou tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “You and I can’t fuck anymore, hmm?”

In response, Kakashi takes another drink, and then looks up at him, and what comes out of his mouth is the last thing Tenzou ever would have expected, given his behavior. “We’re not official,” he says. “It’s not like that.” 

It doesn’t add up. 

There is no sense in that response.

Tenzou had assumed that perhaps, if they had been official husband and spouse, it would make sense for Kakashi resist. Judging by his reaction, Kakashi likely wouldn't have even allowed him to get as close as he did in the first place. But then he says it's not like that and Tenzou isn't sure how this arrangement Kakashi has with Iruka — a non-existent arrangement, it seems — works.

"That shouldn't stop you. I know you're beyond attached to Iruka-sensei, but if he doesn't reciprocate, if it's not official, then what has changed?" Tenzou frowns. “It’s sex. Nothing else. You’re still in the process of annulling your marriage.”

Kakashi’s silence is staggering, and Tenzou watches as Kakashi’s eyes fall shut as he sighs. “Tenzou,” he says, and Tenzou hears it then — the guilt in his voice.  “I wouldn’t feel right fucking you, when all I can think about is him.” 

Tenzou rolls his eyes and pushes away from the door, dragging a chair towards the edge of the bed and sitting himself across from Kakashi, taking the bottle and a short swig. “You know  _ I _ don’t care about shit like that, Senpai.” 

Kakashi hums, something noncommittal, as he reaches out and takes the bottle back from him. He doesn’t have to actually say anything for Tenzou to know what it means — even if he doesn’t care if Kakashi is thinking about someone else the entire time that they fuck, Kakashi  _ does _ care.  What has always made Kakashi great in bed is the way his focus narrows in so intensely on whoever it is he’s fucking — like they’ve become his entire world, for a single moment.  

He gives himself over so completely to it — losing himself in the act. 

But, with the way he’s hung up on Iruka, it seems that he can’t even do that. 

"Don't take this wrong way,” Tenzou says, as he carefully regards the silence before him, "I doubt Iruka would care what you do. At the end of all this, if he decides to go, where does that leave you? I don’t quite understand your current arrangement. You’re caring for him but you’re not together. You’re not fucking, but you can’t fuck outside of that. He’s got you in a place where it’s quite dangerous. I would understand it if it’s going to get somewhere at some point — is it? At all? Do you even see that happening? More importantly, I’m curious how he even  _ agreed  _ to your current arrangement. You are  _ not _ his husband, after all.” He pauses. “Most people would have walked away after an experience like that.”

Kakashi sighs and runs a hand over his face as he contemplates the bottle in his hands again, and when he takes another drink, Tenzou realizes that Kakashi probably isn't going to answer any of his questions. He doesn't know if Kakashi even knows the answers, or if he actually realizes just how completely fucked he is. If it weren't the fact that Iruka was so injured, the divorce would have been finalized already. 

They shouldn't still be married. 

Tenzou allows the silence to continue and reaches forward to a take a swig from the bottle.

“You’re making me worry.” And if there’s anything Tenzou hates the most, it’s worrying over complicated things that he shouldn’t be worrying about. 

“I'll be fine,” Kakashi says, but Tenzou knows it's a lie. Kakashi will never be able to recover from this, not really. There's a part of him that he'd given to Iruka without realizing, and Tenzou doesn't know how Kakashi can ever get that back. He's never seen Kakashi like this, before — but then, Kakashi's never been in love until now. 

Tenzou sighs and hands over the bottle, shaking his head. “Senpai, you can’t fix him if he doesn’t want to be fixed. Whatever happens, when and if he gets better, you need to walk away. You  _ know _ that, right?

Kakashi's head drops slightly, along with his eyes. He looks defeated in a way that Tenzou’s never seen before. “I know.” 

Tenzou hums and doesn’t say anything more.

He knows that Kakashi is never capable of truly walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter is a little shorter, but quality vs quantity. :) 
> 
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	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Must Listen:** [Sleeping At Last - Neptune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cxtsm4jLVjk)
> 
> _I’m only honest when it rains  
>  If I time it right, the thunder breaks  
> When I open my mouth  
> I want to tell you, but I don’t know how_
> 
> _I’m only honest when it rains  
>  An open book with a torn out page  
> And my ink’s run out  
> I want to love you, but I don’t know how_

Iruka's first routine checkup after being discharged happens one warm afternoon in February. It had been quite a pleasant day too, with his joints not as painful and the itch under the cast not as unbearable. On days like these, Iruka spends mornings in the garden, reading. Sometimes, he falls asleep in the warmth of the sun.

Kakashi had wheeled him to the hospital — a steady, constant presence. When the hospital staff called his name, Kakashi had pressed his hand over the curve of his shoulder, and said that he would be in the waiting room.

It is a lengthy process, with his cast refitted, and numerous X-rays of his legs and head. Iruka feels a little haggard and worn out by the end of it all.

"Good news, Iruka-sensei! Your orbital bone is completely healed!"

"That's good news." Iruka smiles, a little relieved with the progress.

"Your legs are also making good progress, the bones are starting to heal. It is however, too early to tell if you will be able to walk again." Iruka’s stomach drops at that statement. "Like I mentioned to Kakashi-sensei, it may be awhile before we know for sure."

Sakura’s lips are moving, and she’s saying something that might be important, but Iruka can’t hear it at all, because all he can feel is the sinking, sickening feeling turning and twisting in his gut, as all the color drains from his face. His knees tremble under the fold of the blanket on his lap, and his hands shake as he fists them on the sides of the chair, knuckles going bone white. There’s an ache in his jaw from how he grinds his teeth down to remain very still, chest heaving.

Iruka had known grief before, but _this_ is something else.

 _This_ is something violent and visceral, and Iruka feels scraped raw, as he sees the faces of his students flash before his eyes, sees himself chasing them through the halls and the grounds of the Academy and past the gates, sees himself walking through crowded streets, and running in open fields, the earth solid beneath his feet.

He might not ever know that feeling anymore.

And Kakashi had known all along, and _he didn’t tell him._

"Iruka-sensei?" Sakura blinks, hovering close, concern tugging at her features.

"When's my next appointment?" he asks, a quake in his voice that he can no longer hide.

Sakura is talking again, something about his next appointment, some supplements she wants to prescribe — it goes over his head and he mostly finds himself nodding, managing to smile as she wheels him out back to the waiting room. Iruka watches Kakashi stand, watches him tuck his book back into his utility pouch, watches him smile at Sakura, and Iruka feels raw all over again as something shakes apart inside of him.

Iruka had promised himself to not feel sorry for himself, that he wouldn’t let this experience or the extent of his injuries break him down. But the moment he meets Kakashi's gaze, he feels his throat traitorously constrict. It's a miracle he even manages to keep the smile on his face when he thanks Sakura for her time, that he'd see her in one week.

Kakashi asks him if he wants to walk through the village, but all Iruka wants is to go home. He shakes his head asks to be taken back, and remains silent the entire walk back, as the sun disappears behind the clouds.

It’s after dinner, which Iruka barely tastes and struggles to keep down, when he finally looks up at Kakashi, unable to keep his silence, and says, "Sakura tells me there's a possibility I might not be able to walk again."

Kakashi’s shoulders tense, and Iruka watches as darkness flashes through his eyes, as he stares down at his bowl of rice, brows pinching together. His lips part with a quiet breath and then he raises his eyes to meet Iruka’s as he sets his chopsticks down with a soft _click_. “Did she say how high that possibility might be?”

"Were you planning on telling me at all?" Iruka counters, completely ignoring the question altogether, something in his chest twisting viciously, cutting from the inside, like he's breathing broken glass instead of air.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to that,” Kakashi admits quietly, and Iruka feels something in him snap.

His palm slams down sharply on the table, rattling the utensils, making Kakashi flinch. "You had no right! I am _not_ your husband! I am not even one of your students! How could you! How dare you!" The blood roars in Iruka’s ears as he blinks tears away that only makes him angrier, both hands coming up to cover his face, his shoulders quaking with grief and shame and sheer helplessness at not being able to do a damn thing, at being at the mercy of someone like Kakashi. He swipes his hands down, viciously scrubbing hot tears off his face, trying to force them to stop. But, no matter how many times he wipes them away, Iruka can’t stop the ocean from spilling out of him.

Outside, rain starts to fall, a hard staccato against the window panes.

Iruka hears Kakashi’s chair scrape across the floor, and then his wheelchair suddenly turns, and before he realizes what’s even happening, Kakashi’s warm hands are covering his own, gently pulling them down from his face and into his lap. Kakashi’s fingers are firm around his own, like he’s afraid Iruka might pull away.

“I’m sorry.” Kakashi bows his head in penitence, his gaze dropping down to their joined hands. “You were already suffering so much. I didn’t want to see you suffer more…” He looks up at Iruka then, expression broken. “I didn’t want you to lose hope.”

"That's not a good reason! That's not — that's a _bullshit excuse_ _!"_ Iruka sobs, head tipping forward as he tries to breathe through his nose and mouth, shaking his head as his fingers tighten involuntarily around Kakashi's hands, unable to let go despite wanting nothing more than to push Kakashi away, to kick his chair backwards, to put some distance between them. "My hope is my own responsibility! Not yours! What else are you hiding from me!"

Kakashi doesn’t know how to tell Iruka that he couldn’t bear the thought of the light burning out in Iruka’s eyes. Couldn’t bear the thought that he might give up, might not have the will to fight.

He had hoped that it wouldn’t have come to this — that Iruka never had to know.

That there wouldn’t have been a reason for him to ever find out.

But here they are, and all Kakashi can do is watch Iruka come apart. And he can’t say that he’s not hiding anything from Iruka, when he carries around a secret that’s far too large. When sometimes it feels like the weight of it is too much for his body to hold, an emotion so large, it feels like he might burst.  

“I was wrong,” Kakashi finally says, his voice coming out all wrong. It’s hard to form words, when Iruka’s tears are carving down his cheeks, and his shoulders are shaking with sobs. Kakashi realizes, with a sinking, heavy weight, that he’d done this to him, too. Hurt him again, when all he had wanted to do was protect him from a terrible truth. “I was wrong,” he says again, softer, and gently slides his hands out of Iruka’s and lifts them up to cup Iruka’s face, tenderly brushing away hot tears.

And as Kakashi’s finger drags across his cheekbone, Iruka thinks to himself that he never should have agreed to this arrangement.

He never should have listened to Kakashi when he said come home — this house, this place, is never going to be _home._ He should have known better than to trust a man whose actions don’t align with his words, when he had known all along that not only are his movements limited, but his options are barely existent too. Iruka feels the bitterness of regret coat his tongue, feels it churn and morph everything inside him to rage and despair he hasn’t felt in a long time. It fuels irrational thoughts that spin like a torrid storm in his head, makes his chest constrict and _hurt._  He wishes now, more than ever, at his lowest point and armed with the knowledge that he may not even walk again, may not even be able to teach because teaching requires full mobility, that he had died and burned in that godforsaken hell. To be robbed of the one thing — the only thing he ever really had — is enough to shatter what little hold he has on himself.

It makes him wish that he been successful in ending his life.

Kakashi should have never found him alive.

It’s all wrong.

Iruka‘s hands reach up carefully to yank Kakashi’s hands down from his face, pushing them away, deciding that he's had enough.

This has gone too far.

"You were," Iruka says and his voice is bitter, harsh, as he looks away from Kakashi, who makes it all the more difficult to try to stay in control, to remain reasonable when there’s nothing left to reason with. He opens his mouth to ask to be returned to his room, and be left alone to get his shit together and hope that tomorrow morning, things will be better.

(Iruka knows that it’s a lie — it’s never going to get better.)

But Iruka looks up and takes one look at the wretched grief and guilt on Kakashi's face and something in him caves, falls apart like the earth opening up and crumbling from within. Iruka feels the ocean in him well up, feels the roar and crash of the waves that forces him to open his mouth.

"I don't need your goddamn apology! I just need you to stop acting like you have any right to hide things like that from me! You don't! I admit, that I made mistakes, that I violated your trust and privacy. But you don't get to be mad at me for something I didn't do, remind me that we're not together because I _know_ we’re _not_ , and then, after all _that_ ask me to come _home_ to a place that I am _not_ entitled to! It isn't fair! It isn’t right! Do you have any idea how difficult — how _cruel_ — it is for me to be here with you, when you know I'm in love with you, when you _know_ that I have never stopped loving you, that I _can’t_ , no matter how hard I try, and to be subjected to your kindness, and warmth, your touch, to be reminded of everything that I can _never_ have, while I'm fucking helpless like this—”

Iruka never gets to finish, because Kakashi’s hands are cupping his face and Kakashi's mouth is hot, insistent, when it presses against his in a kiss that is as tender as it is soft. And it's so shocking, so confusing, that Iruka doesn't know how to react — can't even close his eyes. He drags in a shuddering gasp in surprise, and when he parts his lips, Kakashi _invades_ , the warmth of his tongue brushing into the open seam of his mouth and Iruka can't even _breathe_ because this is really happening. Kakashi is really kissing him, and there is something so desperate there —  something that feels like it's been waiting far too long. Something that feels like love, with the way Kakashi pours himself into the kiss, like it's the only thing that gives him life.

Maybe it is.

Kakashi doesn't think he's truly been alive until this moment.

He’s never known hunger quite like this, or need that could go so deep, until the moment Iruka opened his mouth and said _I have never stopped loving you_.

He doesn’t even know when it even happened, how it could. It never occurred to him —  the possibility of anyone truly falling in love with him, what there even was to really fall in love with. He thought it would only ever be something he would only ever read about, but never truly know. He was grateful enough that Iruka even cared him at all, even if it wasn’t the full kind of love that he sometimes found himself wishing for, though he had no right. After all — what little bit of love Iruka did have for him was far more than he even deserved. To wish for anything more seemed foolish, greedy, wrong.

In retrospect, Kakashi should have figured it out long ago. Should have somehow been able to put the pieces together, read underneath the underneath. Should have believed him when he stood in their darkened hallway that one night, and told him the truth — that he was in love with him. That it wasn’t just an excuse. It was real, and honest, and Kakashi didn’t believe him because he was a fool.  

He's never been loved by someone before like this, didn't quite know how to read the signs. Didn't understand what it meant, if only because he's always believed it was something he'd never really have. It's comical, tragic, really, that he hadn't figured it out long ago, because it was right there before him, and he simply never noticed. Too convinced he couldn't be loved that he didn't realize Iruka's loved him all along.  

That he really wasn’t lying.

That it was real.

It's almost like seeing him again for the first time, as though a veil had been lifted that he didn't know was there all along, covering his eyes. He'd been looking at him but not seeing, not understanding what he was really looking at, what was right in front of him all along.

It’s violent, the way it rises up within him. Need so overwhelming, it drowns out all other senses. It overtakes him in a sudden wave that crashes through every barrier of self-control which had kept the hunger within him barely contained, until the only thing that remains is desperation, burning through his blood and smashing through his very foundations.

" _Iruka..._ " Kakashi whispers into Iruka's mouth, as his fingers slide up the curve of his face and plunge into his hair.

He says his name like it’s sacred, and for Kakashi, it is something to be cherished, something to be protected, something to be loved. There’s so much devotion there in that moment, in those three syllables that roll off his tongue like a prayer, like a wish he’s been holding within himself unspoken. His name like a thousand whispers that sound like love in the dark, that sound like need and desire and all that makes up this moment which is a promise that Kakashi never should make because all he’s ever done his entire life is break promises like he breaks bones and too many lives with his hands, except for the one life he now holds so tenderly in the curve of his palm.

The feeling in his chest stretches and grows, a hot flush that goes all the way down to his toes, and wraps around him on the inside where he is soft and unprotected and empties him out until all that’s left of him is the feeling of it — so devastatingly intense and overwhelming, he never knew an emotion could be so violent in the way it expresses itself and fills him back in. It leaves him breathless and filled with the most dangerous emotion of all — hope.

He takes all of that emotion, every shred of it, and pours it into the way he kisses him.

It sweeps Iruka away, the raw ferocity of it all, this kiss that belongs to a lover and not a comrade or a friend. It’s all consuming, sweeping the darker thoughts that plagued him far too much since his return. And to hear his name this way, to see the syllables formed by Kakashi’s lips, is like a breath of fresh air filling his lungs when he’s been suffocating this entire time.

It’s too much.

It’s too good to be even real and for a moment, Iruka wonders if he’s stuck in that monster’s hellhole — if any of this is even happening.

It takes all of Iruka’s strength to push Kakashi away, fingers fisting against the collar of his shirt to hold him in place, to stare at the curve of his lips, how flushed it looks, and the look in his eyes that makes Iruka’s mouth drop to ask why, why are you doing this to me.  
  
But there is a look in Kakashi’s eyes that Iruka knows too well. It’s the same look he remembers catching a reflection of whenever he finds himself watching Kakashi around the house, when he smiles at him because he is happy to see him come home after an assignment. It’s the same look Iruka wears on his face when he bids him goodnight and good morning.  
  
Iruka doesn’t know if it’s the trick of the light, or if it’s because he’s looking at Kakashi through an entire ocean. His voice stutters, like his heart and the rest of him when he manages to choke out the syllables of Kakashi’s name in question, the syllables coming out in a breathless garble, not daring to believe what he’s seeing before him, not daring to acknowledge the taste of Kakashi’s lips lingering on his own.

 

 

Kakashi’s name becomes the sum of all his grief and months of want and need, the sound of each character a challenge to reality itself, a question as to whether or not what Iruka had felt in that kiss — blinding passion and a love so warm — had been real.  
  
“K-Kakashi?” Iruka chokes out, leaning into the warmth of the hands holding his face, chest heaving. Kakashi’s eyes are so soft, and he looks at him with such tenderness that it’s all Iruka can do to not crumble as relief like he’s never known washes over him, makes him slump forward to press his forehead against Kakashi’s shoulder. He clings to his shirt, like Kakashi is his lifeline, and weeps like he’s never wept before, arms circling the width of Kakashi’s shoulders.

Kakashi’s arms wrap around him, one hand smoothing up the length of his back and into his hair, and he’s pulled forward against him. “I’m sorry,” Kakashi whispers, as the ridge of his nose comes to a rest against Iruka’s temple, which he then presses his lips against.

The moments with Iruka have been the brightest moments in Kakashi’s life.

He knew months ago that this thing between them was far more than just an arrangement. At least for him, it was something else entirely. Something that scared the shit out of him, but burned in his chest with anticipation at the thought of seeing him each day, so that he could step into the ocean that was Iruka and let his riptide pull him out to sea.

All along, he had been so terrified of drowning, of opening his mouth and breathing Iruka in and not knowing how to breathe anything else. It was consuming in a way Kakashi had never thought possible, the way he wanted Iruka. Just being near him, close enough to see him smile, sharing warm, quiet moments with him — moments he’d never shared with anyone else — he thought that was enough, even when he burned with longing, with all the things he didn’t dare speak aloud.

Iruka is precious, so beautiful it makes something inside Kakashi ache, and he can’t bear the thought that he might put his hands on him and break him, when it’s the only thing he’s ever known how to do. When he doesn’t even know how to properly hold on, when he’s spent his entire life letting go.

But then, Iruka was _taken_ from him.

And suddenly, the thought of losing him, of not having him there anymore, within Kakashi’s touch or somewhere his eyes could hold, was far worse than the fear of what might happen if he went against his every instinct. If he held on, instead of letting go, which is what he does best. So he tries, even though he’s never held onto anything or anyone his entire life. His hands aren’t sure how to properly hold a person when they’re made for breaking. He doesn’t know if this clumsy kind of holding is the right way to do it, or if there even is a right way at all.

Iruka shakes in his arms, and his tears soak through the thin fabric of Kakashi’s shirt as he weeps, and all Kakashi can do is hope that his arms are strong enough to keep the pieces of Iruka gathered up. That somehow, his hands are gentle enough to put him back together, to make him whole once more.

It feels like forever, holding Iruka like this in his arms, holding him up when Iruka can’t hold himself up anymore — too drained, too exhausted, sobs muted to slow, deep breaths.

It takes a lot of strength to pull back. Iruka’s exhaustion wears him down and makes his eyelids heavy. He looks at Kakashi’s face, quaking fingers pressing against day-old stubble, thumb caressing the nick of a scar on his upper lip, how smooth and raised it feels under his fingers. Iruka looks at the pinch between Kakashi’s eyebrows, the way it tugs his features, the searching look that belies something far too vulnerable, far too guarded and hidden.  
  
His chest heaves with a huffing laugh, breathless in relief, as he presses their foreheads together, Kakashi’s name rolling past his lips in a sigh, the sound of his name feeling like the first real breath he’s had in a long time.  
  
And the smile that tugs on Iruka’s face is brighter than the rising sun.

 

*

 

They fall asleep to the sound of pouring rain, holding each other.

It’s the first time Iruka has woken up since the rescue without a startling breath or a sharp inhale. He wakes up slow, like the fall of the rain, Kakashi’s arms around him and the warmth of his breath brushing against his neck.

It’s not a dream.

Iruka’s hand comes up to brush against the warm hand on his hip. It’s a slow lingering touch, fingers brushing against the bumps of Kakashi’s callused knuckles, running down the length of the back of his hand, feeling scars rising under his fingers. It’s still dark out and likely nowhere close to dawn, but Kakashi hums low in the base of his throat and nuzzles Iruka lightly as he shifts, stirring awake.

“Mmn…” he murmurs into Iruka’s neck. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Iruka mumbles, closing his eyes as he threads his fingers with Kakashi’s, warmth crawling up his neck, dusting over his cheeks. There is something comfortable about waking up like this. “Did I wake you?”

Kakashi murmurs an unintelligible response into Iruka’s neck and settles, breath even and slow. For a moment, Iruka almost thinks he’d fallen asleep again, until he feels Kakashi slowly inhale, fingers tightening around his gently. “This is a nice way to wake up,” Kakashi mumbles.

Iruka hums in agreement, closing his eyes and turning his head to face the window, watching the rain pour. It hits him, how this is really happening, that Kakashi’s arms around him is not a figment of his imagination, the press of his body against his — strong, warm, and solid, a comforting presence after nights of drowning and the memory of wiry hands on him.  
  
It’s almost too good to be true.  
  
“How long have you known?” Iruka murmurs, the question soft and quiet, a breath into the hush of the house and fall of the rain.

“A long time,” Kakashi admits after a moment of silence, and his voice is as soft as the feeling of his breath against Iruka’s neck. “Too long.”

The breath in Iruka’s lungs stills. It dawns on him — all those nights when he had read Kakashi’s gaze correctly, the heat and want he had thought must have been a trick of the light, the curve of his smile and the tenderness he sometimes had seen, had yearned for during nights when it had been bitter and cold, but didn’t dare believe.  
  
Iruka turns to look at him then, throat suddenly dry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Hmm….That’s a good question,” Kakashi says with a wry smile ghosting over his lips as he looks up at Iruka, fingers slipping from his as he raises them up to his face, thumb brushing against his jaw in a slow, reverent caress. “I suppose you can say that I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Didn’t think what was possible?”

Kakashi falls quiet, and his eyes slide off somewhere past Iruka’s shoulders as his brows furrow and his fingers slip from Iruka’s face. He looks conflicted, like he’s not sure if he’s actually able to answer the question, and Iruka can feel the battle going on inside of him. But then he opens his mouth, and what comes out is a secret whispered in the dark. “For anyone to love me,” he says, and Iruka pushes himself up on his elbow, and looks at him incredulously.

“Kakashi,” Iruka says, unable to keep the rawness from his voice, breathless in its delivery, “I think the world of you.”

Even in the dark, with the shadows drawing long, Iruka can see a flash of something uncertain in Kakashi’s gaze, something that feels like disbelief, like he’s struggling to understand how it’s possible for anyone to think the world of him, let alone Iruka.

“Do you want to know the moment I fell in love with you?” Iruka asks, turning to look at the ceiling, closing his eyes as he recalls a certain morning. “It was autumn, the garden just turned orange and gold. You were drinking coffee, dressed in your yukata. I was making breakfast. You stretched your arms over your head, and whistled to call the pack to let them out to play. It was so... normal, so human, and you looked so beautiful in the morning light.”

Iruka can still see it, how Kakashi’s lower lip and folded under his teeth, the relaxed line of his shoulders, how he didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than himself. “You were yourself. You were just Kakashi. Not the Copy Nin, not the commander, the war hero, and the next Hokage. Just... Kakashi. And I found myself thinking, that if I could have forever with someone, it’d be with that man right there.”

A stunned silence falls between them, and when Iruka turns his face to look at Kakashi, he watches as the surprise in his eyes softens to something inexpressibly warm, and then Kakashi reaches out to take his hand, bringing it to his lips in a soft kiss as his eyes slide shut.

“I’m just a piece of trash,” Kakashi says softly, and it falls to the bottom of Iruka, pinching tightly in his chest. “And I don’t know what it means to properly love someone… I’ve never been in love before, until now,” he continues, as he raises his gaze to Iruka’s steadily. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you more than I already have.”

“As long as you’re with me, by my side, as long as you continue to love me,” Iruka says, tightening his hold on Kakashi’s hand, “there is nothing I won’t be able to face, or handle. Nothing I would fear. I will endure _anything._ As long as I have you.”

“You have me,” Kakashi affirms, and it sounds like a promise, like something Iruka can wrap himself in, but then Kakashi says, “but I don’t deserve you.”

Iruka wants so much to tell him that he’s wrong. That he deserves to be loved, like anyone else. That it isn’t impossible to love someone like him — someone with too much loss carved into him, who can never wash the blood off his hands. Who carries around his grief, like he carries around his little colorful books — a mourning that never ends.

Kakashi had made it easy to love him, to fall in love with him, and it breaks Iruka’s heart to know that he’ll never understand it, to think that he doesn’t _deserve_ it. And as Kakashi’s hand slides up his wrist and travels all the way up his arm to cup the side of his neck, Iruka’s breath catches in his throat, because he can see the reverence in Kakashi’s gaze. And he doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before, when it had been there all along.

“That’s my decision to make, isn’t it?” Iruka smiles with all the love he had been trying to press down and lock away all this time.

Kakashi’s mouth curves softly and his thumb gently slides along the slope of Iruka’s jaw. “I suppose you’d want to know the first moment I fell in love with you,” he says, and Iruka feels like there are a million tiny wings beating inside his chest, as he stares at Kakashi, eyes wide, because he certainly didn’t expect this. He nods mutely, and Kakashi says, “It was the moment you admitted that you read all of _Icha Icha_.”

Iruka stares at him, mouth agape — and then Kakashi’s mouth stretches into a wide grin and Iruka can’t help it. “Really? _Really? Icha fucking Icha?_ At least say it was my looks! My sense of humor! _Something!”_

He throws his head black and _laughs,_ full and warm, and then he realizes that Kakashi is laughing too — and it’s beautiful, watching him be so openly expressive in a way he usually never is. It’s not unlike the first time he saw him really smile, without anything pressing upon the curve.

Kakashi takes his face in his hands, and Iruka looks up at him, eyes as bright as his smile. Kakashi’s thumb passes over his lips gently, and then, Iruka realizes that his gaze has dropped down to his mouth.

“It was the first time you really smiled,” Kakashi admits, and Iruka feels it in the very depths of him.

And in that moment, he falls in love again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the moment you all have been waiting 22 weeks for has arrived! We hope we did it justice and it was everything you all hoped for.
> 
> If you guys get a chance, please check out the song we linked above, as it's where we got the title of this fic from. :)
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> A HUGE thanks as always to [Dri](http://drisrt.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous illustration! 
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	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Soundtrack:** [Fleurie - Breathe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQVop3-OOXc)

What follows after feels like a dream.

Kakashi doesn’t know how any of it is real.

He wakes up to sunlight streaming through the windows and Iruka in his arms, warm and soft and sweet and everything he had always imagined it would be like to wake up in the morning, next to him. And though he’d woken up with him like this before, when they were both broken and bleeding in a cave hours away from home, there’s something about this morning that makes it feel new.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there watching Iruka sleep — committing to memory the gentle part of his lips, the way the sun spills golden onto his skin. He studies the slope of his jaw, how serene Iruka looks with his face slightly turned away from the window. He wonders if he’s still dreaming, if his dreams are kind; wonders what he used to dream about, before — when he was a little more whole. A little less broken.

Kakashi’s fingers are careful, almost delicate as they track down the side of Iruka’s jaw. He would give him nothing but wonderful dreams, if he could, but he doesn’t have that kind of power. What he does have, however, is this: a pair of arms to hold him, hands to caress him, and a mouth to slowly kiss him awake.

They spend nearly every waking moment together in the days that follow trying to make up for time they had lost when they were looking at each other but not really seeing what had been there waiting.

Kakashi spends an enormous amount of time discovering Iruka slowly, every chance he can get. Without any reason to continue resisting the sure pull of gravity, his hands find their way back to Iruka again and again. He begins to map Iruka’s body, starting with Iruka’s fingers, which are long and slender, and fit nicely between his own. Iruka’s thumbs are a little dry, but his palms are incredibly soft, except for the one curious scar that cuts across his right one. An accident during teacher’s training, Iruka explains sheepishly, rubbing at the scar on his nose. And when Kakashi discovers the smaller, less noticeable scars on his hands, Iruka breaks into a bashful smile and admits that he might or might not have gotten them while attempting to paint a bright green mustache on Sandaime’s face hewn into the side of the Hokage Mountain, on a particularly hot summer day, many years ago.

He only succeeded in painting half the mustache before he was caught, and had to make a wild escape, which only ended up with him nearly tumbling off the side of the mountain.

“After all these years, I’m still very proud of that half-mustache,” Iruka tells him, almost wistfully, with a playful smile, as he settles back comfortably against Kakashi on the couch.  

“I’m sure it was quite the masterpiece,” Kakashi says, as he trails his fingers down and discovers that Iruka has the most beautiful wrists. They’re deceptively delicate, but incredibly strong — Kakashi can feel the tensile strength under his fingers, even as he lightly wraps his hand around the circumference and gently strokes his thumb down over the tender underside.

“Kakashi…What are you doing?” Iruka asks with a slightly confused cock of the head, when Kakashi turns his hand around in his own and then lightly runs the pads of his fingers over the swell of Iruka’s wrist bone.

“Learning your body,” Kakashi tells him, and Iruka flushes a beautiful red and pointedly looks away, but allows Kakashi to continue his careful examination.

Kakashi wants to memorize every part of him with touch alone, to be able to trace the contours of him and know him with just his fingers. He’s tempted to peel back the layers Iruka has himself wrapped up in to discover what lies underneath, but such exploration can be perilous and slippery, the fall too fast, and Kakashi wants to take his time with this particular journey.

After all, it had taken him so long to finally arrive at Iruka’s shores.

 

*

 

Some forms of love can’t be easily seen.

It’s the shape of a sunrise smile, the warmth of a hand. It’s the taste of a delicious meal, and the sound of laughter in the pouring rain. It’s everything Kakashi had looked at before but hadn’t quite seen, and didn’t understand because he didn’t have the courage to believe in the possibility of the truth he now sees in Iruka’s eyes, in the quiet curve of his smiles, and the ease with which he allows himself to be folded up in Kakashi’s arms.

And though recovery is slow and painful, and Iruka’s smiles still aren’t quite as bright as they once were, Kakashi sees a glimmer of light inside of him, however small, and that alone is enough for him to have hope.  

But it’s night that’s the most dangerous of all.

Kakashi wakes with a snap of breath, to the feeling of Iruka’s chakra roiling wild, like the sea in the midst of a storm. It’s violent and dark and terrible and Kakashi can feel the terror rolling from the room next door in relentless waves that crushes down with a force he hasn’t felt since that first night Iruka woke up screaming.

He’s off the couch and on his feet and by Iruka’s side in seconds.

Iruka’s breath comes out of him harsh and staggered, desperate whimpers caught in his throat as his entire body trembles like a wire pulled too taut. His brow is twisted in fear, a sheen of cold sweat glinting on his skin in the moonlight.

Kakashi reaches out, fingers curling around Iruka’s shoulder as he shakes him — hard. “Iruka. Iruka, wake up.”

Iruka snaps awake, like a tight wire being cut, jerking off the bed and hands grabbing at Kakashi’s forearms, eyes wide, gasping loudly with the breath trapped in his throat. There is a moment of silence in between, as Iruka stares at Kakashi with a wild look in his eyes, desperate and searching, as he blinks several times, like he's trying to wash away whatever shadows still linger just under his eyelids. For a moment, he doesn't move, doesn't breathe, until the light returns to his eyes. The gasping breath that leaves him is ragged, as apology after apology start rolling past his lips, a hand clapping over his mouth as he tries to keep himself quiet and calm, and all Kakashi can do is wrap his arms around him and draw him close.

One hand slides up in Iruka’s hair as Kakashi tucks him under his chin, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. Iruka makes a broken sob of breath against his neck, and Kakashi’s eyes slide shut as an ache rocks through his chest.

(There are scars under Iruka’s skin that Kakashi can’t see, carved into the softest parts of him, and the shadows that are inside him threaten to drown out his light. They succeeded, for a little while. Kakashi hopes they won’t somehow return and blot out the light once more.)

It goes on like that for a while, until Iruka's breath evens out and he sits there in silence. He leans heavily against Kakashi's shoulder, like he doesn't even have the strength to keep himself up anymore.

"Don't go," Iruka murmurs, so soft, too shaky, barely audible in the quiet of the night.

Kakashi just looks down at him — at the dark circles under his eyes, the pallid tone of his skin, the way Iruka still clings to him like he's afraid he'll be pulled back into the dreamscape hell he had barely escaped from — and decides to pick him up off sheets soaked with fear and sweat.

He takes him upstairs to his own bedroom, setting him down on the edge of the bed, so that he can pull the covers back. Another apology is out of Iruka's mouth before he can stop it, voice hitching in his throat with each syllable. And on queue, Iruka apologizes for apologizing, arms going around his middle, eyes darting around the room once before focusing on a spot on the floor. Skittish, unsure, curled in on himself, eyes haunted and dark as soot, the light burned out — it’s all wrong.

“They killed you,” Iruka suddenly says with an inhale so deep, like he’s gathering courage, voice barely recognizable with the grief and guilt that soaks into each syllable of that admission. “They brought you in and tied you down. They wouldn’t stop — they just kept hitting you. I begged you to leave me. Your life is not worth mine. I told you that you should have never come. And you said—” He sucks in a sharp, wet breath, a tremble going down his spine as the words clog somewhere in his throat and grief suffocates him. “You said, I’m your husband, how could I not?”

A storm spills out of Iruka, and his hand flies up to his mouth to choke back the sob ripping out of him as tears streak down his face. _But you’re not_ , spills from his mouth, over and over again, with palpable conviction, as he shakes his head and clenches his jaw, hunching forward.

“I can still hear it, your bones cracking, when you couldn’t breathe. I can smell the blood, _taste_ it — you said close your eyes, Iruka. Don’t look. But I couldn’t look away,” Iruka says against his palm, shaking his head. “I _couldn’t._ You _died_.” Iruka shrugs helplessly, covering his face with his hands.

“You died because you came for me. And I’m not strong enough for that — I’m not strong, Kakashi. I’m not worth your life — and if I can’t walk anymore, if I can’t even teach the kids — I’m a liability. I’m not even brave!” Iruka pulls his hands down from his face and looks at Kakashi then, lips parting with a tremble when he asks, “Are you sure you want someone like me?”

It takes everything inside of Kakashi to not let his features crumble. To keep his brow soft and the horror out of his eyes. Iruka needs him to be strong enough for them both, needs to know that he won’t give up on him now that he knows the ugliness of the truth.

He crouches down in front of Iruka and looks up at him, one hand rising to wipe away a hot tear carving its way down Iruka’s burning cheek. Iruka looks back down at him like he’s not sure if he’s even there, if he’s seeing a ghost, or if he’s still stuck in that hellhole. Through the cracks of grief and fear, there is a small lingering smile, barely perceptible in the dim lighting of the room, too sad in its curve, weighed down by too many regrets. “Iruka,” he says softly, as he drops his hand down to Iruka’s, and brings one up to his own face. The kiss he presses into Iruka’s palm is tender and soft and filled with promise. “Do you feel that?” he asks softly, and all Iruka can do is swallow thickly and mutely nod.

Kakashi draws Iruka’s hand down from his face, fingers curling over his to drag down the side of his neck, where his pulse surges strongest. He directs Iruka’s fingers to gently press against his pulse point. “And that?”

His heart answers his question, thudding strong against Iruka’s fingers. He feels Iruka’s thumb circle the soft skin there, brushing over the pulsepoint, as his expression softens and he makes a throaty noise that sounds like a yes. Kakashi can feel the tremors in Iruka’s hands, can hear the vulnerability in that small noise of acknowledgment.

“I came for you, and I'm still alive,” Kakashi reminds him gently, as he lets go of Iruka's fingers in favor of gently brushing aside damp strands of hair out of Iruka's face. “Iruka, it’s okay to feel scared. There is nothing in the shinobi rules that say you can't feel fear.” He pauses for a moment as a wry smile ghosts across his mouth. “Maa, I suppose rule number twenty-five says that a shinobi must never show his tears, and rule fifteen says that a shinobi must never show any weakness... But rules were made to be broken, and breaking those rules don't make you weak, or any less brave. Nor do they make your life any less precious. I broke rule number three when I decided to come after you.” _A shinobi must always follow their commander’s orders._ “And I would do it again, even if it costs my life,” he says as he takes Iruka's trembling hands in his own. “Because a ninja who breaks the rules of the ninja world is trash, but a ninja who abandons his precious companions is even worse than trash. And I would rather die, saving the man I love, than live, knowing that I was the kind of trash that would abandon him.”

There is an incredulous look on Iruka’s face, one that slowly crumples to a soft sob as he blinks back tears and brings his hands to rest on Kakashi’s neck, thumbs brushing against the thrum of his pulse.

“My life is not more precious or meaningful than yours, so I never want to hear you say that again. I also never want to hear you say that you are not brave or strong,” Kakashi continues, as he gives Iruka's hands a reassuring squeeze. “You are stronger than you know. And whether or not you will be able to walk has no bearing on what you can continue to do for the village. Just look at Gai!” A soft smile curls on Kakashi's face, as he looks up at Iruka, who stares at him with something stunned in his gaze.

And then, Iruka’s hand wraps around the nape of his neck, and his lips crush down against Kakashi’s, and Kakashi can taste the desperation in his breath, can feel it in the tremble in his fingers as they dig into his skin. He parts his lips and swallows it all down, and it's raw, the way Iruka kisses him, like it’s the first time he’s seeing him, the first time he's feeling him under his hands, tongue brushing against the seams of Kakashi’s lips. Iruka’s mouth is hot and insistent against his, breathless and almost needy in the way the kiss scales hotter, before he suddenly stops and pulls his mouth away, arms wrapping around Kakashi’s shoulders. Iruka tucks his face against the curve of Kakashi’s neck and exhales like he wants to say something, but nothing forms.

“I can’t—” Iruka stops and takes a breath, swallowing harshly as he shakes his head.“I can’t bear the thought of you gone. Forgive me. I never wanted you to see me like this.”

“Like what, hmm?” Kakashi’s smile is so soft and faint that it's barely there at all, just a whisper of tenderness across his lips, lilting gently in his tone, as his hand strokes down the length of Iruka's back. “Sitting on my bed in the middle of the night?” He pauses for dramatic emphasis. “Ah, that's unfortunate. I was rather looking forward to that, you know.”

A breathless huff of laughter leaves Iruka, his shoulders shaking with its suddenness. Iruka pulls back then, his hands coming up to cup Kakashi's face as he just look at his face. Kakashi isn't sure what Iruka sees when he looks at him with an expression so soft, a whisper of all the looks Iruka had given him before, over the rim of his tea cup, from across the dinner table, or when he bid him good night or greeted him in the morning.

And here it is again, openly directed at him, Iruka's tears drying as he breathes slow and deep, lips parted in wonder.

“Unfortunate indeed,” Iruka murmurs, and smiles a little wryly, his thumb brushing against the scar on his left upper lip.

“We’ll have to do something about that, sometime soon,” Kakashi says as his mouth curves with a lopsided smile, and he presses a kiss to the pad of Iruka’s thumb.

“This isn’t the way I imagined this,” Iruka says, sighing a little with what sounds like regret. “Maybe one day…”

“Ah, so you imagined it, hmm?” Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “My, Iruka-sensei. How shameless.”

“Didn’t help you know — I heard you,” Iruka admits, gaze flicking up to meet and hold Kakashi’s gaze. “And I’m the shameless one.”

Kakashi stares at Iruka in surprise, a warm flush traveling down his spine, as the revelation settles. He had thought he’d been so careful about it, all the times he’d locked himself up in his room and brought himself off to Iruka. But apparently, he hadn’t been quiet enough.

It takes a moment or two for Kakashi to gather his wits, but eventually, a lopsided grin makes its way onto his face. “I never claimed to have any shame.”

Iruka is quiet for a while, before the smile tugs at his lips. It isn’t as bright as the sun, but Kakashi sees the promise in the upturned curve, sees the warmth in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. “I can’t remember wanting anyone the way I’ve wanted you.” Iruka looks away and swallows, and then says, “It’s hard, wanting someone and knowing at the time that you can’t have them. And I make it a point to not _want_ people, especially after, well...” Iruka trails off as his eyes fall to his hands. “But with you… it’s different.”

Kakashi’s eyes soften as he shifts onto the bed next to Iruka, and takes his hand. “I suppose we make quite the pair, hmm? Well, I guess we didn't exactly take the most direct path, but we somehow managed to get to the destination we both wanted.”

Iruka’s smiles brightens just a little more, just as he leans forward and kisses Kakashi’s chin, slow and lingering and full of devotion. It segues onto his lips, soft and warm, and almost a little shy. It's achingly sweet and Kakashi can't help but indulge a little, tongue brushing softly against Iruka's, as one hand comes up to gently cup his face. As much as he’d love to continue kissing Iruka all night, Kakashi  knows that Iruka is most likely exhausted and needs his rest, and it’s with that in mind, that he reluctantly pulls away.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?” Kakashi murmurs, and Iruka nods.

After helping Iruka to the bathroom so he can clean himself up, they lie down together under Kakashi's soft covers. The bed is far more comfortable than Kakashi remembers, but then, he hasn't slept on it for a month. He slides to Iruka, pulling him close, one arm trailing over his stomach. One day, when those casts finally come off, he thinks, he would like to hold him closer. Feel the entire length of his body pressed against him. But for now, he'll settle for this — kissing Iruka softly in his bed. Trailing his fingers down the side of his jaw. Breathing him in.

He sighs softly as the kiss breaks, and then settles down with his cheek pressed against the curve of Iruka's shoulder, fingertips tracing slow arabesques over his hip.

“Iruka…”

“Hmm?”

Kakashi almost feels a little guilty for bringing this up again, when Iruka sounds content. Maybe even a little happy. But he needs to hear this — needs to know. “It's okay for you to be vulnerable with me. There isn't a single part of you that I wouldn't accept.”

Iruka is quiet for a very long time, and for a moment, Kakashi wonders if he heard him at all. But then, he parts his lips in a slow inhale and turns his head just enough to press a little closer.

“It’s a little strange, I must confess. Falling in love with you repeatedly. I always thought you fell in love with a person once, and that’s it. Yet here you are. That’s what you do to me. That is your power over me.” Iruka pauses and shudders out a slow exhale. “But, it’s dangerous for you to say that there isn’t any part of me you wouldn’t accept, Kakashi,” Iruka murmurs, and there’s something soft in the warning that belies gratefulness. The pause lingers, and in the dark, Kakashi can almost feel the small smile curving across Iruka’s mouth. “After all, you’re no mind reader. You don’t have a clue what I would want to _do_ to you.”

The admission curls through Kakashi like smoke, twisting hot in his belly, threatening to ignite a familiar hunger. He feels the burn under his skin, slowly rising to the surface of him, sparks of flame reaching towards the night sky that holds all of his secrets. He lets out the quiet breath he hadn’t known he was holding, as his fingers trail up Iruka’s side, drag over his chest, and flow up past his jaw. “As I said,” he says softly, as his fingers brush over the swell of Iruka’s lips, “there isn’t a single part of you that I wouldn’t accept.”

Iruka hums softly, lips parting under Kakashi’s fingertips.

It’s sudden, the boldness that follows Iruka’s admission — the rush of humid breath that mists over Kakashi’s skin, followed by a hot, wet tongue flicking out to brush over the tip of his index finger in a slow, sensual stroke that shoots straight down to Kakashi’s cock.

Kakashi drags in a surprised, staggered breath, eyes widening, as he stares at Iruka’s mouth.  

Iruka smiles innocently like nothing had happened and turns his face away. “We will see. Get some rest,” he tells Kakashi, and then closes his eyes.

And Kakashi lies there beside him, suddenly far too aware of the warmth radiating off Iruka as saliva dries on his skin. He’s aroused in a way he shouldn’t be, when all Iruka did was lick the tip of his finger — barely even a tease.

Fuck, he thinks to himself, as he carefully rolls his hips away from Iruka, and stares up at the darkened ceiling above them.

He really doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through the next three months of Iruka’s recovery without losing his mind.

 

*

 

Iruka wakes up quiet and comfortable, greeting dawn without the weight of shadows pulling him back from the night before. He knows he’s only slept a few more hours. It is easily the most comfortable sleep he’s had in what feels like years.  
  
He didn’t think it would ever happen, waking up next to Kakashi on his bed, watching the soft light of dawn chase away the shadows from the night before across the floorboards. He didn’t think he’d wake up burrowed in the sheets, the length of Kakashi’s body pressed against him, his warmth wrapped around him like this. These were the images he saw in his dreams, warmth that only appeared when he closed his eyes at night and yearned for a home he didn’t think he could ever have.  
  
Yet, here he is, in Kakashi’s arms — Kakashi, who has so much faith in him, who looks at him with such reverence and so much love, and he doesn’t think there’s anywhere else he’d rather be other than here.  
  
(If forever were a picture, this would be it.)  
  
Just as he starts to close his eyes again, he suddenly realizes that there’s a heavy bulge pressed right against his hip. His eyes snap open as he becomes very alert, a secret thrill rushing through him with the realization that Kakashi is _hard_ and pressed against him. There’s no denying it, how full and thick it feels against him, _present_ like the want he saw burning in Kakashi’s eyes the night before.

It’s enough to make a grin curl across his face.  
  
He sits up then, purposely untangling himself from Kakashi so he can turn to look down at him, raking his gaze over the length of that beautiful body, that sharp cut of his jaw, the scar that Iruka can’t stop kissing on his upper lip, that mole on his chin. Kakashi makes an unhappy sound being woken up in such a rude way, blinking sleepily up at him.  
  
God, he’s beautiful, Iruka thinks, as Kakashi yawns and reaches up a hand to cover his mouth, still looking very much like he’d like nothing more than to roll back into his pillow and fall asleep again. But Iruka has no intention of letting him do that.  “My, Kakashi-san,” he says, rather cheekily, making the honorific sound like it’s the filthiest thing to ever roll off his tongue. “You are _mighty_. How shameless.”

Kakashi’s eyes snap open with a sharp inhale and he’s suddenly _very_ awake. Iruka doesn’t miss the way Kakashi’s eyes dart down the length of his own body, or the moment when he realizes exactly what Iruka had woken up to. The look he gives Iruka is confused and aroused and a touch embarrassed, simmering with a slow curling heat Iruka feels deep inside him.

And as he watches, the scarred corner of Kakashi’s lip curls up in a small smirk as he slowly rolls onto his back, jaw clenching slightly at the friction of fabric as it rubs against him. “Maa, you can’t really blame me,” he drawls, voice still thick with sleep. And then he levels Iruka with a pointed look, eyebrow slightly arched, and says, with a complete straight face, and maybe just a little too smoothly, “It’s not every day I wake up in the morning next to the most beautiful man in the world.”

The heat that crawls up Iruka’s spine is like a raging forest fire, hot and burning as it stains his cheeks and neck red. Something curls in his chest, warm and rich like the sweetest wine on a cold night. It courses through his veins, a rush that makes all thoughts stutter to an astounded stop. _In the world,_ Kakashi said, and it makes Iruka looks away sharply, scowling a little bit, huffing a noise of indignation, embarrassed to the roots of his hair as the flush continues to deepen with every passing second. “Stop saying such embarrassing things! Exaggeration is not flattering at all!”

And Kakashi just _laughs_ , the sound of it filling the room, warm and bright and mellifluous, as he reaches over and takes Iruka’s hand. “Ah, but you’re so cute when you blush, Iruka-sensei,” he says with an unapologetic grin. “You’re turning quite an interesting color.”

“Stop being annoying at once! I am doing no such thing!” Iruka says, swatting Kakashi’s hand away in as he covers half of his face, the heat radiating onto his hand. He can’t believe how a silly statement like that can affect him this way. It’s ridiculous. “You’re looking at me through rose-tinted glasses. Instead of you saying useless things like that, why don’t you just help me downstairs so I can start on breakfast!”

Kakashi groans and rolls back onto his side, pressing his face against Iruka’s hip as he flops an arm across his lap. “That requires getting out of bed,” he complains, the words muffled by fabric.

“What are you, two?” Iruka asks, a little breathless with surprise at Kakashi’s reaction, how childlike and annoyingly sweet it is. He’s surprised at how affected he is by it, as his fingers gently card through Kakashi’s hair, and proceeds to lie through his teeth. “If you’re trying to be cute, it’s not working. I suggest you stop acting like a child at once.”

Kakashi simply makes a pleased hum in response as Iruka’s fingers brush along his scalp. But instead of getting up like Iruka suggested, he nuzzles him instead, and Iruka can't stop the flutter of a thousand wings in his stomach. He looks at Kakashi, how he's curled around him like this, so unlike the jounin and legend he's known to be. There is something so beautifully human about it, and not for the first time, Iruka finds himself falling in love with him all over again.

Iruka doesn’t know how long he sits there, letting his fingers stroke through Kakashi’s hair, looking down at him and drinking up the image of Kakashi, so relaxed and content and at peace. And for a man like Kakashi, who had been shaped by a lifetime of war and far too many battles, peace — the idea of it — must have felt impossible. A fantasy dreamt up by fools who never truly understood the weight of the battlefield. But seeing him like this now, Iruka wants to believe that it’s possible for Kakashi to have more moments like these, to feel at peace in a way Iruka knows Kakashi usually isn’t, when he walks around looking out at the world with the battlefield still in his eyes, and too much loss pressed into the distant look in his gaze when he thinks no one is watching.

But Iruka’s seen it too many times, when Kakashi wasn’t paying attention.

So this moment is as rare as it is precious, and Iruka suddenly finds himself fiercely wishing that he can keep on giving Kakashi moments like these.

(Forever, if Kakashi will let him.)

“I wasn’t exaggerating,” Kakashi’s voice suddenly breaks through the quiet, soft and contemplative. Iruka hums in question, fingers pausing in its caress when it hits him, what Kakashi is referring to.

Its enough to make the flush rise again, a warm curling heat dusting all over his cheeks, crawling down his neck spreading over his chest. “You’re the one who’s beautiful,” Iruka murmurs, fingers gently drawing circles on Kakashi’s nape where the hairs are softer, smoother, less coarse. “If I could wake up every day like this to you,” Iruka’s voice softens, barely even a whisper, “I would consider myself lucky to have been able to live such a fulfilled life.”

You’re my world, Iruka doesn’t say, not yet. But he hopes Kakashi hears it.

Kakashi looks up at him then, something astonished and soft in his gaze. His mouth curves with a quiet smile as his hand pulls back and finds Iruka's, weaving their fingers together. “I already consider myself very lucky,” he tells him as he gives Iruka's hand a gentle squeeze.

Iruka flushes at the words and carefully eases back down, tugging Kakashi over to him to cup his face with both hands and kiss that scar over his lip, slow and lingering.

And as the sky begins to brighten, against Kakashi's lips, he whispers the softest good morning.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter, things have been hectic.
> 
> We know that this is the last thing you guys want to hear, but we will be taking a hiatus from posting to finish writing the fic before we resume weekly posting. We think that this is a good place for a break (think of it like a "mid-season break" if this were a television series)! Once we've finished the remaining chapters, we will resume posting again on a weekly basis. 
> 
> While we do have enough content to post up to Chapter 35, we think that would be a pretty crappy place to stop, given the overall plot trajectory, so we've chosen this point instead, as it more or less is the end of the first half of the fic/the beginning of the second.
> 
> At this time, we do not have a concrete return date set, but hopefully, it will be soon. 
> 
> To keep up with us, you can follow us on Tumblr at **[subtextually](http://subtextually.tumblr.com)** and **[pinkcatharsis](http://pinkcatharsis.tumblr.com)** , and also **subscribe for future updates**. We're also part of the [KakaIru Discord Server](https://discord.gg/UvmeTCQ) so if you'd like to chat with us, feel free to join there, too.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with us every week for the past 23 weeks, to every person who's given us a kudos or a comment, and to everyone who's taken the time to support us on our KakaIru journey! We promise we will not leave you hanging, and will return soon with the final half of the fic. 
> 
> We'd love to hear your thoughts on Part 1 of the fic, and what you hope will happen in the second! Feel free to also share any theories about the fic so far, where you think it may go, and what kind of ending you'd like most.


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